


The Witch in the Woods

by HigherMagic



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Bottom Daryl Dixon, Creampie, First Time, Knight Rick, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Rickyl Writers' Group, Sad, Swordfighting, Top Rick Grimes, versatile rickyl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6848398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigherMagic/pseuds/HigherMagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl and Rick have been best friends since they could remember, and have loved each other since they were old enough to know what love was. Their parents want to keep them apart, because it's not proper for two men to be so close. When it comes to light that Rick is going to be shipped off to train as a knight, leaving Daryl behind for years, neither of them know what to do. Daryl has heard stories of a witch in the woods that will grant wishes for a price, but Rick is strongly against that kind of magic. Daryl agrees, but his father has his own plans for his youngest son that drive him to desperation.</p><p>Daryl just wants Rick back, and wants to be free to be with him. Surely any price for that is worth paying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaaaand medieval AU! The trope is strong with this one so I'm sorry. This story was originally a DeanCas fic, then I turned it into an original story, then I thought - fuck it, make it Rickyl. As a result the beginning is a little weak because I had to edit the shit out of it but! I'm excited as to where it's going to go. I hope you guys are willing to join me for the ride.
> 
> Basically Pyramus & Thisbe meets The Witch meets...idk. 10th Kingdom or some shit. Write all the cliches!
> 
> Also for the purpose of this story Carl is Rick's (way) younger brother, not his son. That might weird some people out. Sure as Hell weirded me out when I was writing it but I did my best.

Behind the Grimes estate, the lawn stretched out like a thick tapestry, rich with greens and browns. Even in the fast-fading light, and with the first clawed hands of winter beginning to dip her nails into the Earth, the grass was thick and crisp under Rick's feet. The recent autumn rains had slicked the ground and it was with great care that the oldest Grimes heir trekked the wall separating the lawn from the main road, until it turned into a great hulking barrier between his father's estate and that of the Dixons'.

"Daryl?" he called, brushing his fingers across the frigid rock, lantern raised high above his head. "Daryl!"

It was harder to see along the wall with the sun setting on the other side, and the moon had yet to make its appearance in the sky. Rick hefted himself up onto the single tree stump that remained by his father's wall, thankful for the respite from the mud clinging to his feet in an effort to pull off his boots.

There was a collection of five strong oaks in the corner of the lawn. They had grown so densely into and around the stone wall that removing them was now unthinkable for even the most talented gardener. When he was a child he used to climb up the trunks and wave over at villagers passing along the main road on their way to and from town.

Rick bit his lip, carefully balancing on the tree stump until he heard a familiar voice;

"Rick, I'm here."

Rick breathed a sigh of relief, already smiling as he dug his nails into a small gap between two of the cold stones and jammed his toes into another, pushing himself up that final distance until he found the familiar, tiny crack in the wall. It was big enough for him to peer through and find the light of Daryl's dim fire on the other side. "Hey," he said, hooking his lantern over a stray branch and pushing two fingers against the wall. It was thin enough that when Daryl did the same, their fingertips could brush. "I missed you. I'm sorry I'm late."

"What kept you?" Daryl sounded upset, and weary. He always did nowadays – Rick remembered when he used to smile so brightly he put the sun to shame, crinkling his eyes, cheeks round and red. "I've been waiting."

"I'm sorry," Rick replied, resting his forehead against the stone. "My father asked me to stay after dinner and talk about the estate. He…" He swallowed, falling silent after a long moment. His throat felt tight and his fingers curled against the stone, pressing until his knuckles hurt and the pads of his fingers began to grow numb. If he could get away with it, he would claw his way through this wall and take Daryl away from all of this, to a place where they could be together, finally.

"Rick?" Daryl asked, when his silence had stretched on so long that it became uncomfortable. "Rick, what is it? What did he want to talk to you about?"

Rick sighed, closing his eyes, and rested his forehead just above the crack in the wall. "He's sending me away to train, to become a knight," he whispered, hoping just briefly that maybe Daryl would not hear. "I'd be gone for…for years."

"…Oh." Rick clenched his jaw, his entire body shuddering at Daryl's soft, heartbroken response. " _Oh_."

"I'm sorry," Rick murmured, his voice thick no matter how many times he tried to swallow or clear his throat. His lips felt dry, cracking in the chilly air. "I can't – I can't disobey. I just…God in Heaven, I didn't want to leave you like this. I don't want to leave _at all_."

"But you must," Daryl replied softly. "If it is your father's wish, Rick, you must." Daryl huffed – a short, sharp and angry sound. Rick could just imagine him, his eyes flat and grey as castle stone when he got angry, his fingers flexing into a fist before he purposely relaxed them. "I just want to see you. Once more, before you leave."

Rick nodded, licking his lips and wincing at the sting, before he opened his eyes again as though he might be able to look through the gap in the wall to where Daryl was leaning on the other side. It was awful, being separated like this: Rick had never spent a day without seeing him until they'd both come of age and their fathers had decided that their friendship was far too close for two boys.

"Name the time, and the place," he said. "I'll be there."

He could hear Daryl's smile; "Tomorrow night, when there is no moon, climb this wall and meet me. We can sneak out, and go into the forest together, and I will spend the night with you. Promise me?"

"I swear," Rick said, pressing his palm flat against the wall and imagining that, on the other side, Daryl was doing the same. They remained like that, quiet and listening, until one of the windows of Rick's house snapped open, fragile wood hitting stone. A loud whistle broke through the air, calling Rick back.

"I have to go," Rick murmured, reluctantly drawing away. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye, Rick," came Daryl's sad reply. Rick clenched his jaw and unhooked his lantern, forcing himself to make the slow, precarious trek back towards his father's manor. The setting sun's weak light highlighted the brass bars on the doors and the rich, red glitter in the walls. The black roof sloped, severe and frowning down at Rick as he approached the house.

Daryl had to sneak a lot farther to meet with Rick like this; their parents' estates backed up into each other, with the forest on Rick's right and Daryl's left. The wall had always been there, but Rick imagined that as he grew bigger, so did the wall, until his estate was not a home, but a prison.

He met Carl by the door, smiling when Carl took his lantern from him, and slinging his arm around his little brother's shoulders. "Thank you for keeping watch for me," he said, watching as Carl grinned up at him from behind a big mop of brown hair, all teeth and squinting blue eyes. Carl almost stood to his shoulder, despite Carl's youth. What little baby fat there was still clinging to his face would soon be gone, smoothed into muscle and the lanky awkwardness of a teenager.

"Did you tell Daryl I said 'Hi'?" he asked.

Rick shook his head. "There wasn't time," he replied. The heavy doors swung shut behind them, sealing in what little sun-warmed air still remained in the small conservatory. As the brothers walked deeper into the house the air grew colder, wrapping tight around them and urging them to their respective rooms to take shelter for the night.

Once they had reached the foyer, Rick took the lantern back and settled a hand on Carl's messy head. "I'll tell him tomorrow. You need to distract our father for me, okay? Just until I can get over the wall, into the woods."

Carl frowned. "Rick, that's dangerous," he said, tugging the sleeve of Rick's tunic when Rick tried to move away and melt into the darkness of the west wing of the house, where he slept. "There's all sorts of dangerous things in the forest. You could get hurt!"

Rick barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I'm not scared of a wolf or bear. Now go to bed 'fore dad finds you and asks you what you've been up to."

"Rick!" Rick paused, turning around and taking in Carl's earnest gaze. Carl bit his lower lip, fidgeting, and scuffed at the floor with one of his shoes. "I'm sorry," he said after a long moment. "I'm sorry -."

Rick sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. "It's alright," he murmured, squeezing even tighter when he felt Carl hug him back, fiercely – Rick was due to leave in a little less than a week, and with all the preparations to be made he wasn't sure how much time he would have left with his brother, let alone Daryl.

He kissed the top of Carl's head and let him go. "Get some rest. I'll see you in the morning. Maybe we'll go to the blacksmith and pick out a cool sword for my training, yeah?"

Carl smiled, a little shaky. "Sure, Rick, sounds good."

Rick nodded and watched Carl leave, before he bent down to ease off his muddy boots, grimacing at the feeling of his moist, cold feet touching the tile once they were off. He hurried back to his own room and closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh, tossing the boots into the bottom of his wardrobe, which already bore several streaks of mud from similar treatment.

Rick strode over to his desk and blew out his lantern, setting the warm container down, blinking and allowing his eyes to adjust to the small sliver of silvery light drifting in from the window. Tomorrow was a new moon and so there was very little light to see by, but Rick was used to navigating his room at night and so it was with little difficulty that he stripped off his shirt and undid his belt, wandering over to a basin full of water and washing his dirty hands and mud-streaked face.

When he returned to the window, he could see dim lights from very far away signaling the presence of other manors and the town that lay beyond it. Daryl's house was on the outskirts of town, not further in the countryside like Rick's was, and whenever he had to go in he would pass by, searching the windows for Daryl's face or hoping to see him within the markets. He wished to just steal him into a dark corner or an alley and kiss him, hear him properly, feel him breathe against Rick's neck and have his heartbeat stutter under Rick's touch.

Daryl's life was not that of a warrior, and although he was not battle-hardened like Rick's family he was a lauded and talented hunter. He had muscles Rick did not possess, from wielding his bow, but he was skinnier everywhere else. Still, there was something undeniable about the way his powerful, beautiful body fit against Rick's.

He sighed, closing his eyes, and hoped that Daryl had made the long trek back to his house safely. When he opened his eyes again, he turned them towards the huge, gaping maw of the forest. The trees were thick and tall and heavily thatched with dark green leaves that shone silver in the moonlight, and Rick knew that within those woods lived all manner of beasts.

At least Daryl had chosen a night where the wolves would be of no concern.

Rick smiled, thinking of tomorrow night, and forced himself to get ready for bed and fall asleep when every part of his body, his soul, was thrumming with anticipation. Nothing could dampen his mood, as long as Daryl was meeting him tomorrow night.

 

 

 

 

The next morning, Carl accompanied Rick into the town. Rick's horse was a good hand taller than Carl's, although Rick suspected Carl would take over care of his mare once he was sent away, since he was not allowed to bring her across the ocean. Carl rode his gelding well, with sure hands and a steady head, and so Rick did not worry for the fate of his loyal beast.

The ride to town was relaxing, the road open and uncrowded, and because they were in no hurry they whiled away much of the morning talking to passing townspeople, and Carl spent a good half hour with the baker's daughter Enid while Rick negotiated a price for flour.

It wasn't long before they had to dismount and continue on foot, as the crowd thickened the deeper they went into the markets, and the fields began to give way to little thatched buildings for the villagers, and the collapsible stalls of the migrant merchants. They were all drab, brown buildings thick with mud at the base to stop the persistent wind from knocking them over, and many of them held dangling pieces of shells or foreign gems that clacked and clinked together in the breeze.

 Rick nudged Carl and grinned conspiratorially at him. "So, you gonna marry her?" he asked, pleased when Carl's eyes widened and he blushed a very dark red.

"Maybe," he said, kicking at a loose stone along the path and staring at the floor. "You gonna marry Daryl?"

Rick sighed, lifting his head and keeping his eyes on the road. He could see the roof of Daryl's main estate coming up slowly on the left of the road, and he forced himself not to start looking too soon, lest he come across as too obvious. There were guards all over Daryl's family's house, dressed in the colors of his house: grey and blue and black. "If I could, I would in a heartbeat," he said with a small, angry exhale. "But the world don't work that way."

"Doesn't," Carl corrected, almost absently. He paused for a moment, twisting the long, loose reins around his closed fist. "But I don't understand why. You love Daryl; he loves you."

"Yeah," Rick sighed, smiling at the reminder. Daryl _loves_ him. Something totally impossible and yet somehow true. "But, I mean, I'm a firstborn – means I get all of our father's land and estate when he dies. And that means I have to have an heir. And with Daryl, well, we can't exactly make babies the old fashioned way. And dad's a stickler for the old-fashioned stuff. First-born has to go learn to fight in a war, earn his bounty, and settle down with enough money to carry on the estate."

Carl frowned down at the ground, and Rick took the brief pause as an opportunity to gaze up at Daryl's house. It was a long, two-story, pinkish manor with overly bright blue finishing around the windows and underneath the roof: Rick suspected that had been Daryl's mother's design. He imagined he could see one of the upper window curtains twitching, parting, and imagined it was Daryl peering down with his storm-blue eyes and smiling when he saw Rick down below.

"Those rules are dumb," Carl finally declared, pulling Rick's attention away.

Rick let out a short, loud laugh. "You don't have to tell me that," he said, smiling down at his little brother fondly and lightly pushing his knuckles against Carl's shoulder. "Now come on, let's go tether the horses and go to the blacksmith. We got an appointment."

"We _have_ an appointment, Rick."

 

 

 

 

Daryl was now, he was sure, being completely unsubtle in how little he was paying attention to his lessons. His forehead was resting against the cool glass of his classroom's upper window, notebooks discarded in his lap and across the bench seat as he gazed outside. It was such a beautiful day outside, and even though Daryl didn't know if he would see what he was looking for, he preferred to sit here because this place had the best view of the road into town.

"Daryl!" Carol's sharp tone snapped him back from his vigil, and he blinked rapidly into the darker room, the sheer curtain falling back into place as he straightened. "Have you been paying attention at all in the last ten minutes?"

Daryl winced; in truth, he could not say he had been paying attention all day. His mind was racing with the possibilities of tonight, his heart flying underneath his ribcage. How could he possibly concentrate on something so dull as geography and century-old alliances when _Rick_ could be passing the house at any given moment, his face upturned towards the sun and his skin gleaming, strong and steady on his powerful and wild mare?

Daryl often had vivid fantasies of Rick galloping up on that beast, scooping Daryl into place behind him and taking off into the woods, where they could be together, untouched and untroubled. Rick looked so at home on his horse, with a sword by his side; he looked at home anywhere. Daryl envied the ease with which he was allowed outside, to interact. Rick, with all the weight on his shoulders, was much freer than Daryl.

He sighed, raising his eyes to his teacher's stern face, pale underneath her tight bun of black hair. "It's such a beautiful day," he said, gesturing out to the window, the sunlight streaming in. "Possibly the last of the season." He stood, placing his quills and papers gently, respectfully down. "I'm sure there will be cold, dusty days spent scouring the Great Demon war of seventeen-twenty later in the year. Please, Carol, I'm begging you – may I go and enjoy a day out?"

Carol's thin lips twitched, her eyes sparking with amusement within her thin face. "At least you had the date right," she said with a sharp slap of her board pointer into her hand. "Ask Merle. I relieve myself of responsibility of you for today."

Daryl grinned at her. He wished he could hug her, but she was close enough to him in age that it would be deemed inappropriate, so he settled for a respectful nod of his head before he all but ran out of the classroom, barreling down the stairs and out the front door.

Knowing Merle, there was only one place where he would be.

The ground was slippery around the entrance to the kitchens underneath Daryl's estate and he skidded, almost slipping to his knees as he rounded the tight corner to avoid crashing into a wall, or one of the many servants and guards wandering around. With a muffled apology and a quick brush of his dirty hands across his trousers, he resumed his full tilt into the kitchens, using all of his body weight and his gathered speed to slam the heavy wooden door open quickly.

Inside the kitchen was a cacophony of sound and steam, voices all rising higher and higher above each other as each servant tried to make themselves heard. Daryl understood that there was a banquet being planned for later that night, though he knew not what for, and it didn't concern him. Servants dodged out of his way as he ran down the few stone steps and into the main floor.

It wasn't difficult to spot the mane of golden hair that belonged to Merle, the man perched on one of the wooden steps leading up to the grain silo, a sticky coating of pastry already around his mouth and two more on a plate in his lap, waiting to be eaten. Carol's daughter, Sophia, was sitting next to him, big eyes fixed on one of the pastries in Merle's lap, and as Daryl made his way over he could hear them;

"Please, Merle, just a bite!"

"You're not big enough yet, and your momma said you're not allowed all this sugar, remember?"

Sophia was still young – she hadn't even hit ten years yet – and it showed on her pouting face that immediately melted into a smile as Daryl approached. "Daryl!" she yelled, throwing herself into his arms and Daryl caught her in a clumsy hug, grunting at the sudden weight pushing against his body.

"Are you taunting children, Merle?" he asked over Sophia's shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

Merle smirked, licking at his thumb to get a glob of icing off of the end. "Teaching them the natural pecking order," he said with a one-shouldered shrug.

Sophia pouted. "He's being mean," she said, and Daryl laughed, setting her down.

"Now, Merle," Daryl said with a soft shake of his head. "You don't want to be remembered as the mean sibling, do you?"

Merle's sharp blue eyes darted between the two of them, before he huffed, his smirk growing into an impressed smile. "You're both brats," he said, straightening and holding out a pastry for Sophia's grabby hands. "Don't tell your momma where you got that from!"

But she was already off, disappearing into the mess of cooks. Daryl watched her go with a fond smile.

"So," Merle said after a moment, finishing off the pastry and picking up the last one, setting the plate aside and sliding to his feet. His overcoat was unbuttoned and hung open on either side of him, making way for his gluttonous stomach, and even his loose undershirt seemed especially tight.

"You need to watch the sweets," Daryl said. "Mother will put you on a diet otherwise."

Merle hummed and bit into the final pastry, unrepentant. "Worth it. What do you want, little sparrow?"

Daryl frowned. He'd never managed to figure out why Merle called him that. "Carol says I'm excused from classes today. I need an escort through the gates."

"Hmm." Merle smirked, cocking his head to one side. "And who says I wanna go to town today?"

He strode off without waiting for Daryl, forcing the younger man to turn and follow him through the winding mess of cooks and servants trying so desperately to prepare such a grand meal without treading on each other.

"Please, Merle," he said, catching his older brother's shoulder once they were free of the kitchens and outside, forcing him to turn around and meet Daryl's eyes. "Please. It's…it's such a beautiful day," he said, the excuse falling flat. Merle could peer right through him, he knew.

The older man hummed again, eyes narrowed. "And this wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the Grimes brothers?"

Daryl swallowed, his fingers flexing as he raised his chin, but said nothing.

"Ha!" Merle slapped him on the back with one sticky hand, grin wide and triumphant. "You know, one day I'm going to look out my window and see you riding off into the sunset with that boy! I'm putting money on it now!"

"Will you escort me through the gates?" Daryl asked, forcing his voice to remain calm, without inflection.

Merle rolled his eyes. "Don't use your 'dad' tone with me, sparrow, I'll go with you. I wanna go see if the spice lords are back anyway. Go on; go change. You're muddy and sticky and you reek of old books. You have ten minutes."

Daryl grinned, enveloping a reluctant Merle in a tight hug before he turned and bolted back up to his room. He was breathing heavily by the time he got there, but he refused to waste a moment that he could be spending with Rick, out in town, where no one could force them away from each other, where there were no walls to keep them apart. He tore through his wardrobe, clothing scattering haphazardly, before he decided on soft black leggings and a long blue tunic with a thick black belt to sling around his waist. He knew how much Rick liked the blue on him.

He was back down in record time, still breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed and his hair wild from running so fast. Merle smirked at him but didn't comment, his pastry now gone and his fingers licked clean.

"Horses?" he offered, knowing Daryl had no real affinity for the animals even though he knew how to ride. Daryl, predictably, shook his head, and with a shrug and a wave to the guards they were headed out of the gates and into the township beyond.

 

 

 

 

Rick shifted back with a big grin, hefting the heavy broadsword up so that it pointed straight up at the sky. He let go with one hand, twisting it around with his wrist in a tight arc against his side. "Abraham, you have truly outdone yourself," he said with an appreciative nod, eyeing the tip of the sword as he pointed it up. "The weight is _perfect_."

"Only the best for my favorite customer," the smith replied, thumbs digging into the big pouch in the front of his leather apron. Abraham was a large man, for his large, well-fed gut and his muscular arms. The rest of him was tall, so that even Rick's father had to look up at him, and Rick's father, despite his thin frame, was larger than life. "Give the grip a twist, Grimes."

"Steady now," Rick warned, his tone teasing as he took the grip with both hands, testing the plain leather wrapped around the handle to give it a good, tight grip. "I might get the wrong idea about you."

Abraham rolled his eyes, thick ginger mustache twitching. "Just do it."

Rick obeyed, finding a small gap in the handle where there was a little give, and it fit perfectly between his hands. When he took the handle in both hands and twisted it, there was a heavy clicking sound, and then the impressive length of the broadsword fell away with a heavy clatter to the floor, revealing a smaller short sword. Rick gave a startled laugh of delight, spinning it around in his hand. "Impressive!" he said, laughing again when he found that the weight was still relatively good, the balance decent enough in a pinch.

Abraham nodded. "You get your sword stuck in anythin's hide and can't get it free, but still need a weapon; you got that to fall back on."

"This is wonderful," Rick said with an appreciative nod, bending down to retrieve the rest of the broadsword. He pointed the tip down to the floor and pushed the short sword into the sheath of the blade until it slid back into place. "I'm definitely taking this." He slid it back into the plain leather scabbard and set it to one side near where his horse was tethered; along with a leather-coated iron shield and another long, jagged hunting knife Abraham had designed with beheading monsters in mind. "Do you have any other treats for me?"

"Rick, come look at this!" Carl called, catching Rick's attention. He was tugging on a thick wooden shaft that appeared to be attached to a chain. The other end was hidden amongst a pile of tools and leatherworking implements.

Abraham walked over and helped him haul it free. It was a mean-looking morning star and chain. The ball was spiked to look like an eight-pointed star and the chain was two feet long, made of thick black metal links. Rick picked it up, hefting the spiked ball with one careful hand. It was very heavy, and would pack one hell of a mean punch against any creature.

Carl tugged on a hook on the end of the wooden shaft and the chain retracted, attaching the rod with a rough _thwack_ to the ball. When Rick tried to pull, it refused to come free.

"Twist the hook," Abraham said, and when he did the chain came back out again. "That's a new one. It still tends to catch and won't release as much as I'd like, and I wanted to make a longer one, but you knock anyone hard enough with one of these they won't get up too soon."

Rick's mouth twisted, something vicious sparking in his eyes when he handed the weapon back. "See if you can fix the catching problem," he said, "but even if you haven't, I want this with me when I go."

Abraham gave a small salute. "No problem, m'lord."

 

 

 

 

Rick left the blacksmith with a heavy wrap of weapons packed securely onto his mare's back. Carl was walking beside him with his gelding, and Rick sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking around the mass of milling villagers going on about their day.

"Anythin' else you wanted to do while we were here?" he asked, knowing his father would want him to get back to training and packing preparations as soon as he got home. He didn't exactly relish the idea of going back home to that any time soon.

Carl shrugged one shoulder. "I could always talk to Enid some more," he said, his young face trying so damn hard to appear nonchalant, and Rick laughed and reached over to muss his hair.

"Sure thing," he said, and turned around to start leading the way back, only to collide into someone. "Oh, I'm sorry -."

"Rick!"

Abruptly Rick went from shocked and irritated to happy. "Daryl?" he asked, pulling the other man up to his feet. His cheeks hurt from smiling so wide; Daryl's cheeks were red from running, his hair a complete mess, as usual – was that flour in his hair? Good Lord – and his eyes were practically glowing, striking underneath his dark hair.

Rick hadn't seen Daryl up close for so long – nothing more than a light touch through the wall or a glimpse in a window. He'd known that when he saw Daryl tonight there would be nothing stopping him from touching and tasting every inch of the other man, feeling and sinking into Daryl so completely that, for a moment, they were one whole person.

Now, taken so by surprise and having Daryl _standing_ in front of him, flustered and grinning and shy, Rick found himself frozen. "Are you allowed out here?" he blurted out. They both knew what he was really asking;

_Does anyone know you're here?_

"Merle agreed to escort me out of the gates," Daryl said, all in a rush. He was maintaining a respectful, proper distance from Rick and his horse, but his entire body gave off an air of discomfort, and it was like he was leaning into Rick's space as close as possible without actually moving. "He's gone to see the spice lords. He told me to entertain myself."

God bless Merle sometimes. Rick grinned. "Hey, Carl?" he asked, looking over his shoulder to his little brother. Carl looked like he couldn't decide whether he was watching something funny or uncomfortable. "Why don't you go say 'Hi' to Enid for me? And watch the horses."

"Sure, Rick," Carl said with a roll of his eyes, taking the reins of Rick's mare from him. "S'good to see you, Daryl."

"And you, Carl," Daryl replied solemnly, giving a nod of his head in Carl's direction. "Thank you for keeping watch for us."

At that, Carl's smile turned a little more genuine. "No problem." Then he was leading the horses away, disappearing quickly into the mass of villagers milling around them.

Rick swallowed, his eyes meeting Daryl's, and they both seemed to decide on the same thing at the same time; two youths running around and chasing each other was hardly an out of place sight within the village, even if Rick and Daryl were touching the age where it was a little odd, but they managed to make it to the hidden spot behind the hunting dog breeding pens relatively unmolested. The animals gave happy and excited barks as they passed, and Rick took Daryl's hand and led him through the long pens of dogs towards the back of a large barn where the meat the hunting dogs had caught was skinned and hung to dry out for jerky.

It had a horrible stench, but with the noises the dogs made, no one would hear them and no one came back here.

As soon as they cleared the back wall of the large barn, Rick turned around and shoved Daryl up against the strong wood, kissing him passionately. Daryl melted into him, hands pushing in vain for some purchase against Rick's clothes. The older boy was wearing thick leather pads on his shoulders, laced across his shoulders and in front of his chest, and Daryl's fingers curled around the backs of them, tugging.

"I'm so happy you're here," Rick whispered between one kiss and the next. It was as though he couldn't breathe unless Daryl was kissing him, giving Rick his air. One of his hands settled, warm and tight, on Daryl's hip, the other fisting in his thick mess of hair, holding his head still. They kissed again and again, until Daryl was grinning with bruised lips and his blush was spreading down his neck, for an entirely different reason than the exertion of running through town.

Daryl wrapped one hand around the back of Rick's neck when Rick pulled back, letting the fingers of his one hand clutch tightly at the leather cords in the front of Rick's tunic to pull and keep him close. "I had to beg," Daryl said with a wry grin. "I'm sure Merle will call in that favor sooner rather than later."

Rick huffed a laugh. It was like he could not stop touching every inch of Daryl's exposed skin, enthralled with the arch of his neck and the strong line of his clean-shaven jaw, the dark splotch of red along his cheeks.

"I can't stay long," Daryl continued, leaning into the touch of Rick's hand on his cheek, his eyes falling closed. His fingers flexed in Rick's clothes, irritated even as he spoke.

Rick nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. It wouldn't matter, anyway – he would see Daryl later tonight, and there would be no one expecting them, and no one there to interrupt.  His hands burned where they touched Daryl's skin, desperate to feel more of it, but he held his desire in check for now.

He leaned in and kissed Daryl quickly, a chaste press of their lips together and a hand through Daryl's hair. "You should get back to your brother."

Daryl sighed, tugging for one more kiss that Rick happily gave him. "I wish…"

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Rick could relate, and he vowed tonight to wipe that sorrowful grey from Daryl's eyes. "I'll see you tonight," he said, before they parted with one more long, slow kiss. Rick drew back first, regret written deep into every step as he disappeared around the corner of the barn into the welcoming chorus of the caged hunting dogs.

Daryl sighed, tilting his head back against the old, rotting wood at his back. With a low curse, he slammed the side of his fist against the barn. "God damn it," he hissed, pushing the knuckles of one hand against his other palm until they cracked.

The night could not come soon enough. Daryl wrung his hands together again, and forced himself to stand taller, straighter. He ran his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to straighten it out, and tried to re-immerse himself in village traffic while drawing as little attention to himself as possible.

 

 

 

 

After several more hours spent wasting time within the markets the sun was beginning to set in the west, casting the sky into a burning red sunset and prompting the stalls to close and the villagers to return to their homes. Children and laughing wives were replaced by night-women and drunks hollering out of any available tavern window.

Daryl and Merle returned to their father's manor an hour before sunset, and Daryl was quick to change into more comfortable and less formal clothing so that, should his father find him, he would not question what Daryl had gotten up to during the day. Daryl's father was a pious and stern man and frowned upon his scholar-bound son getting up to boyish play under Merle' guide: Daryl was nearing the age of a man, he'd say, and it was time he started to act like one.

At the Grimes house, dinner was a solemn and quiet affair. The Grimes had less than ten servants and most of those were given the task of the gardens and keeping the wild forest at bay, and so even the most opulent feast in the Grimes house was often a simple affair that replaced grandeur with sheer volume.

Since it was just the four of the family, there was a large honey-roasted ham with sweet potatoes and fresh bread from the baker, purchased by Carl. Their mother had been delighted at the warm, fresh roll of French-style bread that her sons had brought home.

They ate in silence, which was usual, until Reginald picked his tankard up and held it in both hands, sitting back in his seat and fixing his dark eyes to his eldest son. "Did you manage to find anything at Abraham's stall today?" he asked. Unlike his height and his grand aura would suggest, Reginald was a soft-spoken man, with a thin wisp of grey hair on his head. Still, the question immediately had Rick on alert, and Rick set down his hunting knife and wiped his fingers on a cloth before he raised his eyes to his father's.

"He made me a sword that can detach by twisting the handle, changing it from a broadsword to a short sword," he said, smiling even as he remembered the weight in the weapon, the perfect balance and the softness of the leather under his hands. He had inherited his love of weaponry from his father. "And Carl managed to see a flail that could become a mace – Abraham is working on some kinks with that one, but I may take it as well when I leave."

Reginald nodded, apparently satisfied with that. His beard rolled and bristled as he pressed his lips together, and then moved his gaze away so that he could take a long swig of beer from his tankard. "That's good," he said with a nod, tapping his forefinger against the lip of the tankard. "A man should have a good blade to fight monsters." He gave another nod, gazing ponderously at the dark beer in his mug.

"…Father?" Rick hazarded, frowning when his father fell silent once again, apparently lost in thought. He reached out and touched a gentle hand to the back of his father's, who startled at the touch. "Are you alright?"

"We're going to miss you when you're gone, Rick," Deanna piped in, and Rick turned to look at his mother. She was an older woman, well-aged with smile lines written deep into her round, pale face. The entire look of her was soft, from the thick brown ringlets around her face to the girth that two children and many years of easy living had added to her figure. She reached out to gently grab his hand in hers, squeezing. "I know you will do with the training, but that doesn't stop a mother worrying. Or a father."

Reginald huffed, taking another drink. "He is our son," he said with a definitive nod, setting his tankard down with a thud that sounded very final. "He will do right by us."

Then, he stood. Rick and Carl scrambled to stand with him and watched as he exited the room, before they took their seats again. "Mama," Carl murmured, frowning and sounding very young. "What was that about?"

Deanna's smile grew sad, her dark eyes brightening briefly as she looked to her youngest. "Your father is a somber man, Carl," she said, brushing her fingers through his shaggy hair. "He has a lot on his mind at all times."

"Every man has heavy thoughts," Rick replied, somewhat shortly as he picked his knife back up and stuck it into the wooden plate under his meat, using the anchor to pull meat off into bite-sized pieces for him to eat.

Deanna sighed. "Your father knows you have been sneaking out to the wall, Rick," she said, making Rick freeze mid-bite. At his wide-eyed look, Deanna shook her head. "Oh, so it _is_ true? You have been meeting that Dixon boy in the night?"

Rick had never liked lying to his mother, and he had never made it a habit. She could see right through him anyway. He nodded, eyes fixed on his plate, and Deanna made another unhappy sound.

"Rick…"

"I love him, mama," Rick said quietly, but firmly, his jaw clenching. Deanna shifted in place, and turned her face away. "I – for the love of God, he was my best friend! You can't just – you don't just _forget_ your best friend, no matter how thick the walls are."

"There's just no happy way for this to end," Deanna said sadly, shaking her head again. "You are not much more Daryl's senior. He will be approaching marrying age soon, Rick – and you will be gone, and I had always hoped that you would find a nice lady and settle down yourself -."

"I don't want to have this conversation," Rick said, yanking his knife away from his plate with more force than necessary and slamming it down on the table. "I'm obeying and I'm getting shipped across the sea in less than a week. If I never come back, do you want this to be the thing that hangs over us?"

Deanna frowned at her son, and shook her head. "That's not fair," she replied, but let it drop and excused herself from the dinner table. Servants came in to begin clearing away the food and Rick shoved his plate away with a soft curse, his appetite gone.

He rubbed his hands over his face and back through his hair. He needed to cut it before he left over the ocean. "Sorry about that, Carl," he said, shoulders rolling as he braced his elbows against the table. "I didn't mean to get into a thing about it."

Carl pushed his lower lip out, poking at his pile of sweet potatoes, and lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "S'okay," he replied. "Means I don't have to eat these, at least."

At that, Rick managed a soft laugh. "Small blessings, then."

"Did you…really mean what you said? About Daryl?" Carl asked, his voice small. "You love him?"

Rick sighed, and nodded, his face still hidden behind his hands. "When I look at him, I – Lord, I don't know how to explain it. I look at him and I _burn._ "

Carl accepted that explanation with a small nod, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he continued to push around his vegetables until a servant came forward and took the remaining plates away, leaving an empty if slightly grease-stained table. For a long moment he just watched his brother, watched how Rick's shoulders were slumped in defeat, his face hidden but somehow indefinably _sad_ , as though he could see just how much Rick was hiding behind his large, tough hands.

"Then you should do something about it," he finally said, lifting his chin when Rick gave a derisive laugh and let his hands fall. "I mean it, Rick," he pressed, leaning forward to match how Rick leaned back, arms folded across his chest. "I saw a conjurer at the market today – I know they -. They can make special potions, you know, redesign the fates."

Rick's eyes snapped to Carl, and narrowed. "No!" he hissed, arms unfolding so that he could point accusingly at his younger brother. "Absolutely not! We are _not_ messing with those fucking witches!"

"Christ!" Carl exclaimed, holding his hands up in a meek defense. "Don't get so angry. It was just a suggestion!"

"If I ever hear you've been associating with those people, I swear -."

"I haven't, I promise!" Carl said quickly, waving his hands in front of him, eyes wide. "I just – I want to make it better, Rick," he finished, hands dropping down to the top of the table in defeat. It seemed as though his entire body collapsed to half its size as he sighed, head hanging down. "I hate seeing you so miserable."

After a moment, Rick sighed and wiped his hand across his mouth, and forced the sternness to melt from his shoulders. He stood and circled the table so that he could ruffle Carl's messy hair. "It's okay, buddy," he said kindly, with another sigh. "I know your heart's in the right place. Just, don't mess with magic and spirits, okay? Promise me."

Carl nodded quickly. "I promise."

"Okay, good." Rick leaned down and briefly pressed a kiss to the top of Carl's head. "I'm gonna sleep a while before I head out, alright? I'll see you in the morning. Don't stay up too late."

Carl rolled his eyes, and turned his grin up at his brother. "Yes, sir."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where it'll earn an M rating. Next one will be E if all goes according to plan. There are also some notes and the end of the chapter so if you read anything in here that worries you...wait until the end. Maybe.

Banquets at the Dixon manor had always attracted all sorts of crowds. The Dixon family manor was the largest and wealthiest so close to town and Daryl's father was a well-known patron of many of the villagers' establishments, and on top of that he personally knew almost half of the town on first-name basis.

Daryl had always tried to maintain the same friendly, welcoming air that his father had, but it was difficult when his shyness was crippling at times and at others he found people utterly boring or completely obnoxious. Rick, it seemed, was the only exception to his selective moods.

Thinking of Rick brought a smile to his face as he was forced to exchange pleasantries with yet another family, this one foreign – they were called the Chamberlains, and they owned a great swath of land on the East shore several miles away. They must have traveled a long way for this party.

The father – Herschel Greene – was a old, sickly-looking man, his face mostly hidden by a thick, well-combed and richly-waxed white beard. Most of the hair on the top of his head was gone, leaving shiny and pale skin behind, and although his voice was gentle he had the look of a man who had seen awful things and was just waiting for the moment to talk to you about them. His wife was similarly thin, her face pinched and so covered in red blush it looked as though she had been choked half to death. Still, their poorly-groomed faces were the second thing Daryl noticed, for they were dressed so grandly, with gold threading and tassels on every available edge of their clothes. Josephine Greene's dress was widely netted to suit the fashions in the South and almost bowled Daryl over when he leaned in to kiss her hand.

They had a single daughter with them, though Daryl knew they had another who had already married and moved away and so had not accompanied them. She was introduced to Daryl as Elizabeth, and Daryl recognized, dimly, that she was around his age, and pretty in the way that most girls his age were pretty. She had long golden hair wrapped in a braid around her head and stood slightly taller than him – though whether that was because she was wearing tall shoes or she simply stood higher, he could not tell.

Her face had been painted a very pale, chalky white. The rest of the villagers had not taken up the fashion of painting their faces so richly, preferring instead to let the sun kiss their skin and to let it show in the healthy glow, but the black lines around her eyes emboldened the blue and made them glow in the lights.

"Elizabeth," he greeted warmly, kissing her hand with a small bow as he had been taught. He could not tell if she blushed or not, but her eyes lowered and she performed a small, if clumsy, curtsy. Daryl caught his father's eye next to Herschel Greene's shoulder and nodded, and offered his arm to Elizabeth to escort her into the main hall. "A pleasure to meet you. My name is Daryl."

"I know who you are," Elizabeth replied, tilting her head back to admire the ornate paintings of angels and the Heavens that was spread across the Dixon hall ceiling. Her eyes were wide and awed, and Daryl joined her in looking, before his gaze dropped to the matched pairs already circling the dance hall to the lively tune being played. "My father told me about you."

Daryl frowned. "Why?" he asked, suddenly unsure.

She smiled and patted his arm. "Because I believe it is your father's intention that you and I should marry," she said. "Shall we dance? I do love this one!"

Daryl felt frozen, and could only nod, allowing her to whisk him onto the dance floor. Fortunately his lessons had extended to ballroom dancing, and on autopilot his body moved, following the familiar patterns and movements around the dance floor.

There had to be some kind of mistake. His father would _not_ just marry him off like that, would he? Without even mentioning it to Daryl, even once? Granted, his father was a well-liked enough man but he was distant from his children, especially Daryl who was destined for the scholarly or monk life should his parents get their way, but he felt that something so _big_ surely deserved a passing mention over breakfast, at the very least.

Yes, surely there was some kind of mistake. He would ask later.

The song drew to a close and another started, and Daryl let more of his mind become dedicated to the task of dancing with Elizabeth. She was a good dancer and moved easily with him, likely trained just as he had been, and she had a pleasant manner once Daryl had recovered enough to maintain some easy, shallow conversation with her.

When the song ended, dinner was announced and the guests were directed to the lavish dining room to begin. Daryl had never particularly liked this room – it was too gaudy, far too rich for his tastes, though he supposed it was the only taste he'd ever really known. He never remembered any other house he'd been in to have golden statues and knives and forks made of bone. The fact that they had forks at all was a testament to the kind of society the Dixon family tended to entertain – which made little sense to Daryl, as most of the guests they had ever had were mostly villagers from the nearby town, and no richer than any common man might be.

Elizabeth was directed to sit next to Daryl, a few seats down on his father's right side, and Daryl held her chair out for her before taking a seat himself. Almost everyone he knew was there, but there was a notable absence of any Grimes ambassador at the table – Daryl could see no face of the family or one of their few servants present.

A low, cold feeling started to settle in his stomach.

"My friends!" his father said, standing and raising a glass, in a toast. "Thank you all for gathering with me and my family today, under our roof. You are all treasured friends of mine and I am so happy for you to share this happy occasion with us."

Across the table, Daryl caught Merle' eye. He had not seen any of his older brother around the party previously, but now Merle was there, glaring contemptuously down at his wine and smearing his thumb along the glass edge.

Daryl wanted to grab his attention, to ask what was going on, but there was no room to do that without causing a scene.

"I am pleased to announce that, coming spring, there will be another Dixon place at our table." Elizabeth's elbow nudged Daryl gently, startling him, and he looked up to find his father smiling at him. "For this spring, my son Daryl will join in matrimony to Elizabeth Greene, uniting our families and making this community stronger than ever!"

A chorus of cheers went up, but Daryl could not hear them. His heart was thudding behind his eyes, and suddenly he feared, more than anything, joining in the toast with the rest of the guests, in case he was sick and ruined the food. It seemed like such a silly thing to focus on, but it was all he could put together.

But everyone else was drinking around him and, with a shaking hand, he forced the glass of wine to his lips and drank. And drank. Soon it was empty, and a servant bustled forward to refill it. Daryl couldn't even find the voice to thank him.

Across the table, Merle had a deeply unhappy look on his face. He must have known.

 _Everyone_ must have known, except Daryl himself.

Very suddenly a dark anger swept through him, and he found himself downing his second glass of wine with much more purpose. Beside him, Elizabeth was casting him strange and worried looks, but he did not pay attention to her. The remainder of his father's toast passed without incident, and then the guests were invited to begin their first course.

Each course was brought out by servants rather than laid out along the table for the guests to pick and choose as they pleased, and Daryl glared at his first offering of a few slices of fresh bread, richly slathered with butter and honey. He ate purely because it was polite but he could feel the dark mood staining much of his sight and his demeanor, so much so that none of the guests bordering his seat tried to engage him – even Elizabeth, after a few polite and stilted attempts, subsided with a soft sigh.

It was unfair to her, he knew, and Daryl would have scolded himself for being so rude over something that she was just as little to blame for as he was, but he could not think past the idea that her own father had told her more than Daryl's own had told him – and not only that, but that she had seemed to reconcile with it. She was a pretty girl, vibrant and young, and Daryl found it impossible that she did not have a more suitable mate in mind.

Daryl's ears kept keenly focused on the town crier, just audible over the low hum of conversing guests. Soon, he could see Rick.

Around the third course, thoughts of Rick and time had managed to clear his dark mood enough that he was able to engage with the guests and be more polite with Elizabeth. He even managed eye contact, which Rick used to tease him about when they were younger – it seemed that Daryl was able to make only eye contact or none at all. It was what made him such a terrible liar, Rick would say, because Daryl would never be able to look at someone and lie.

"Elizabeth," he began.

"Please," she said, holding out her hand and placing it over his. She gave him a kind smile. "I prefer Beth."

At that, he managed to relax somewhat. "Beth, then," he conceded with a nod of his head, smiling as she did. "I confess I didn't…realize what the nature of your visit would be today."

"I figured," she replied with a gentle squeeze to his hand and a wink. "You looked like someone had just hit you over the head."

Yes, he supposed he hadn't hid his surprise very well. He blushed slightly, looking away. "I hope you'll forgive me -."

"It's no trouble," she replied, nudging him again. "Really." There was a pause as the servants began to clear the meal away, bringing the final course before dessert – earlier that day there had been a great hunt and it showed in the vast amounts of meat brought to the table. On each guest's plate, artfully arranged, lay turkey breast, chicken stuffed with garlic, and a generous helping of roasted venison. Each cut was thick and juicy and around the meat was a thin ring of pink juice. "What's her name?"

"What?" Daryl asked, taken by surprise at the sudden question.

Beth smiled at him. "What's her name?" she asked again, finally removing her hand from his and daintily picking up her knife and fork. It looked so strange in her hand, all white and fine – Daryl had seen plenty of Rick's weapons to know what it meant to hold an actual sword in his hand, and Merle's hunting knife had once been so familiar to him before his father had taken it away and demand he turn his attention to his schooling. These delicate, thin things wouldn't do much damage.

Daryl swallowed, and cast his eyes around the dining table. No one seemed to be paying much attention to them, put off effectively by Daryl's previously dark mood. Still, his love for Rick had been something his father had gone a long way to hide and discourage, and so announcing it to a stranger – even one he was supposed to marry – in such a crowded place would be foolish at best, catastrophic at worst.

Still, no woman's name could come to his mind. For the life of him, he could not think of another female he might have met that would satisfy her.

Until; "Carol," he said, suddenly remembering his favorite teacher. His spine straightened at Elizabeth's curious look. Across from them, at the table, Merle's eyes snapped up and narrowed. "Her name is Carol," Daryl said, the lie sitting thick on his tongue. Then, he suddenly deflated, gazing at Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Elizabeth said with a little smile. "We cannot help who our fathers wish us to marry." She set her bone-ware down and laid her hand gently over the back of his. "We can still be amicable, Daryl Dixon. My parents' marriage was one of convenience and it seemed to have worked well enough for them."

Daryl swallowed. He might be sick after all. "Yes," he said, nodding. "I suppose it could."

Outside, the town crier's bell settled thickly over the undisturbed village, calling for the tenth hour. He should be meeting Rick.

"Forgive me," Daryl said, sliding his hand away and pushing himself out from his place at the table. "I must see to some things. I'm sorry."

The apology came out rushed and quiet, but no one tried to stop him from leaving. He almost collided with a servant carrying a fresh jug of wine, and ignored the servant's rushed, stammered apology in favor of breaking out of the loud, gaudy hall as quickly as he could.

"Daryl!"

It was Merle, and Daryl stopped and turned around so that his brother could catch up with him. Merle' face was red from running, and his eyes were sad. Daryl was sure he was making no effort to hide his own misery – his hands kept rubbing against each other, nervously cracking and twisting his knuckles as he stood and waited for Merle to catch his breath.

"Did you know?" Daryl asked after what felt like the longest moment of his life. He wanted to go to Rick, to wrap his arms around the other boy, to tell him everything and know that Rick's strong, steady presence would be able to soothe him, if not fix it. Rick was leaving, anyway – what could he do? Certainly nothing that would help. "Did you know I was to be married next spring?"

Merle shook his head, blowing out a heavy breath. "No," he replied, and he sounded honest. "I swear, Daryl, I didn't know. I'd suspected, you know – father tried the same shit with me – I recognized the pattern easily enough."

"Why didn't you warn me?" Daryl growled, his teeth clenching, the knuckles of his right hand kneading nervously into the palm of his left. He had never thought of himself as particularly violent, but there was something very enticing about the idea of hitting one of the walls, or ripping the golden leaf down from around them until he'd clawed his way to the bare plaster underneath.

Merle shrugged one shoulder. "Honestly? I was hoping I was wrong – and then I didn't want you to be unhappy, so I thought the less you knew the better, and -." He let out a short, frustrated huff, and ran a hand through his slicked hair. "Perhaps I should have told you."

"Yes," Daryl replied, throat tight. "Perhaps you should have."

He looked away, out towards the main hall where the doors stood shut, heavy and dark like an open mouth. "I need to leave," he said, stepping away from his older brother. "I'll be back sometime close to morning."

Merle let out a short, unhappy sound. "Running off to see that Grimes boy again?"

"I've never tried to hide what I feel from you, Merle," Daryl replied shortly, not bothering to stop. "Unlike others in our family I don't enjoy keeping secrets."

"Just be safe!" Merle called as Daryl hooked his fingers in the heavy iron rings attached to the grand doors, hauling the right one just open enough that he could slip through.

Daryl didn't bother with an answer, and slipped into the cool outside air before anyone could be drawn by Merle' yelling. He knew he had nothing to fear with Rick by his side – Rick was strong, and brave, and an excellent fighter, and Daryl knew Rick would protect him from anything that would do him harm.

There was a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with the chill of the air as he wrapped his arms around his torso and started the long trek towards the stables. He had no love of horses, but he was already running late and the quickest way to get to the forest would be on horseback. Besides, the night was freezing cold and the animal would provide him with at least some warmth should he have to wait.

The stable doors were open when Daryl walked inside, and most of the animals were bedded down for the night. Still, there were servants around tending to the guests' horses and carriages, and Daryl recognized the grunting shape of Nicolas, the lame stable hand that had served the Dixon family since Daryl was a boy.

"Nicolas," he greeted warmly, smiling when the man stood, slightly stooped, and grinned widely at Daryl.

"M'lord," Nicolas replied, his arm jerking up in an aborted hat-tip. His fingers shook and trembled around the staff of his pitchfork, dug into a barrel of hay. "What can I do for you?"

"I need a horse," Daryl said, his arms dropping, fingers kneading at his fine clothes. The barn was much warmer on the inside, the scent of horses and hay strangely pleasant, if sharp. "Can you saddle one up for me? Quickly?"

"Of course, m'lord," Nicolas replied with another jerky nod, before he yanked the pitchfork out and set it down against a stall wall, and ambled towards the back of the barn where the Dixons' personal rides were kept. Daryl waited, an occasional shiver running down his spine from the outside air, his body trembling and shivery as it got used to the warmth.

Next to where Nicolas had laid his pitchfork, a curious yearling was peeking over her barn door. She was a strange color, a mottled mix of brown and white with lovely brown eyes. Daryl knew she could not be one of theirs because his father had always favored the beautiful, fierce black stallions that he bred specially for their carriages and carts.

"Hello," he murmured nervously, earning another soft snorting from the animal. Her ears cocked forward, and she shook her head so that her mane fell across her face, before she snorted again. "How ladylike," he told her, reaching out a hand for her to press her soft muzzle to his palm. Her ears flopped, relaxed, her eyes hooded.

"Here you go, m'lord." Nicolas' voice broke the silent moment and Daryl turned to gaze on the sparsely-tacked stallion being led towards him. He had only a plain leather bridle and a hunting saddle on – Nicolas had always known Daryl had no love for the fancy cloth and comfortable, heavy saddles the knights wore. If he was on a horse it was to harness the animal's superior speed and nothing more.

He smiled and took the reins, nodding in thanks. "Who is this?" he asked, jerking his head towards the yearling in her stall as he gently ran his hand down the stallion's soft face. It was black like the rest of the Dixon horses, and gazed at him with dark, intelligent eyes.

Nicolas' face melted into a gentle smile as he hobbled quickly over to the yearling, who gave a soft whinny in greeting. "This is Ruffian, m'lord," he said, gazing on the yearling fondly as she pushed her mottled muzzle against his shoulder. "I traded her just last week with one of the nomads, since they had no feed for her or her mother. M'hopin' to make her a good hunting animal."

"She's a good horse," Daryl replied warmly, smiling at the stable hand. "I'm sure she will be a good ride for anyone."

Nicolas nodded, his hand jerking out to pick the pitchfork up again. A strange look came over his face, considering for a moment, before he nodded towards the ground. "I can keep you up to date, m'lord, on her training and the like."

Daryl blinked, before he gave a slow and curious nod. "Yes, please," he said, gazing once more at the filly's bright, warm eyes and the relaxed, almost regal slope of her neck. He had no love of horses, it was true, but he was oddly comforted in the presence of the gentle and welcoming yearling, much more so than his father's great black stallions had ever made him.

Nicolas nodded, and Daryl bade him a good night, before leading his mount for the night out towards the mounting block. The hunting saddle slipped a little as he placed his weight into the stirrup and he straddled the animal's back with a low huff, righting himself with a quick jerk of his legs. He gathered up the reins as the horse lifted his head, ears pricked forward, front hooves clacking against the courtyard as though ready to sprint away.

All it took was a slight dig of heels against the animal's flanks for them to go flying out of the gates and into the village outside. Daryl gritted his teeth, his eyes squinting against the sudden, cold wind, and he ducked his head low to the stallion's cropped mane and jerked the reins to the right. The animal skidded with a low snort, quickly righting itself and cantering along the cobbled streets towards the forest.

Daryl breathed a sigh of relief when the cobbles gave way to dirt, the horse's heavy feet making a dull, thudding sound in the cool night. The forest loomed up on the rise of the hill, a dark and foreboding shape on the horizon, but Daryl headed for it like it was a beacon in the night.

 

 

 

 

Daryl made it to the forest's edge before Rick did. He frowned, but forced himself not to worry – he had assumed that the tenth hour would be something Rick had understood, but they had never set a specific time, and if Rick was walking from his estate he would be absent for another half an hour at least.

He dismounted and loosened the girth around his horse before loosely tying the reins against a low hanging branch, so that the animal could graze or rest to its heart's content. Then, he settled down to wait. Under the heavy boughs of the trees the wind was not strong and Daryl felt a little warmer, but his entire body ached for Rick, hoping that he would come soon and that he could have the foresight to have brought blankets for them.

The night was dark, unlit by the moon, and beneath the trees the forest stretched out like a black void. Daryl had brought no lantern, no weapons and no food or blankets, and he couldn't help but think with a soft, bitter laugh that he would be a very underprepared runaway indeed, should he ever try.

His head snapped up as he heard the sounds of someone approaching, and he pushed himself to his feet just as Rick's horse appeared out of the shadows of the tree line. Steam rose off the animal's flanks and Daryl couldn't help but smile at the thought that Rick had been in such a hurry to see him. For a moment, it overrode his anger and his worry at the news he had just received, and he rushed forward to embrace Rick as Rick dismounted and allowed his mare to wander and graze to her heart's content.

"Daryl," Rick breathed, his voice like a homecoming as he wrapped his arms around Daryl's shoulders and held him close. He stank of horses and sweat, the scent of a knight, of a warrior, and Daryl clung to him as though, if he held tight enough, reality might strip itself away from them and leave them be. They could be wildlings in the forest, just the two of them, and live with the witches in the woods and no one would trouble them.

What a life that would be.

"I missed you," he said, feeling foolish because it had scarcely been twelve hours since they last met, but still, his heart ached when he was not with Rick and the sun felt dull on his face without the other man there to enjoy it with him.

Rick pulled back far enough so that they could see each other. His eyes were beautiful and glowed almost silver in the light of his lantern, and Daryl tightened his fingers in Rick's shirt hard enough that his knuckles turned white.

"Kiss me," he demanded, like he would die if he did not at that very moment. Rick surged against him, pinning him back against the tree against which he had been resting. Their mouths met hungrily, Rick's kiss passionate and hard against Daryl as they pressed together as close as they could, as though they could flee from the cold and find haven within each other's chests.

"I got here as fast as I could," Rick murmured between one kiss and the next, one of his hands on Daryl's jaw and the other gripping his hip tightly, keeping him still. "Were you waiting long?"

Daryl couldn't speak, so he made a vague sound saying that no, he hadn't. But every moment away from Rick felt like years. How was he going to handle when Rick left for good? What if Rick never came back? Daryl would be in his homestead, _married_ , and the love of his life might die and he may never receive word of it. Carl would tell him, possibly, if he ever found out, but that could be months, _years_ after the fact, and Daryl would be left with a heart aching for something that he would never get again.

"Rick," he gasped, his spine turning hot under Rick's hands and his mouth, able to feel how much Rick wanted him. But he pushed him back, because he _had_ to tell Rick – it wouldn't be fair, knowing that this might be the last time they ever see each other, to part ways on a falsehood or a lie. "Rick, I – I have news."

"What is it?" Rick asked, his brow furrowing at Daryl's soft, painful tone.

"I…" Daryl swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, before he sucked in a large breath through his teeth. "My father has arranged for me to marry. In the spring."

Rick gasped, taking a step back from him. The cold air rushed in like a punch that robbed Daryl of his own breath, his hands falling from Rick's clothes as Rick looked away from him. Rick ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard, before he let his hand fall.

"You're getting married?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Daryl nodded, his breath steaming in the cool air as he wrapped his arms around his chest. "Yes," he said. "My father threw a banquet tonight and invited the family and then announced it to _everyone_." He kicked at the dirt, huffing to himself. "Seemed everyone already fuckin' knew about it too, except me."

Rick let out an ugly sound. "He can't _make_ you marry her."

Daryl raised an eyebrow, fixing Rick with a disbelieving look. "I don't think either of us have it in us to disobey our fathers," he said with a meaningful nod towards the new sword hung on the pommel of Rick's saddle. Rick made another noise, angry and defeated, and conceded that with a nod. "But I wanted to tell you – that how I feel about you. That will never change. Even if…you never come back."

"I'll come back," Rick said darkly, raising his head and advancing on Daryl again. "I'll come back," he said again, once Daryl had his back against the tree once more. One of Rick's hands came up, his fingers touching so lightly to Daryl's cheek like he was made of glass, his other arm raised to cage Daryl in, so that Daryl could look nowhere but the cold fire in Rick's eyes. "Don't think for a second I won't."

"I won't hold you to anything," Daryl whispered, unable to put more power in his voice because Rick was gazing at him with enough emotion and force that it made Daryl feel weak, like he could crumble into dust under Rick's hands. "Things can change. I can't make you vow things I can't promise myself."

"I _swear_ ," Rick growled, "on my life, on my house, that I will come back to you. And I will be yours, in whatever way you desire me."

Daryl blinked, his throat too tight to answer. Instead he grabbed Rick's shirt again and pulled him closer. "Kiss me," he said, voice thick. "I don't want to think about the future anymore."

Rick managed a small, sad smile, before he leaned in and stole Daryl's breath in another kiss. It was gentler this time, both of them clinging together in the darkness of the woods. Rick's hands were clever and warm, finding Daryl's skin under his shirt and blazing marks across it that Daryl knew would never fade. Rick's touch went deeper than skin, than bone, and Daryl's heart flew and his breath grew unsteady as Rick kissed him, again and again and again.

"Come here," Rick growled, pulling him away from the tree and grabbing a roll of blankets from his mare, before he led Daryl slightly deeper into the trees. Daryl grabbed Rick's lantern to help them see the way and Rick turned around a thick brush of trees. Daryl set the lantern down on a flat patch of grass and Rick unrolled the blankets, laying them flat so that they could lay down on them.

"I love you," Rick whispered against his lips, his body held smooth and strong over Daryl as Daryl laid down on his back, Rick braced over him. Daryl let his legs spread, giving Rick room to rest between them, and gasped as he felt Rick's erection brush his own. It was hot now, almost unbearably so with their bodies rutting together like wild beasts, and when Daryl curled his fingers through Rick's hair he could feel the first hint of sweat dampening the curls. "I will always love you. And I will come back to you."

"Don't speak," Daryl begged, stopping Rick's next words with another kiss. Rick closed his eyes, sighing softly as he let their bodies follow the instinct to grind and roll together, trapped in their clothes because it was too cold to shed them but still burning, hotter than fire, than the height of summer air, and pushing towards that climax that Daryl had only ever known with Rick.

" _Daryl_."

"I know."

His heart ached and his stomach tightened, his thighs wrapped tight around Rick's waist as Rick shuddered above him, abruptly going still before Daryl felt warmth dampening the clothes trapped between their bodies. Rick gasped, his eyes flying open so that he could see Daryl's face as he came. "Rick," Daryl whispered, his hips rolling up as he fought to chase that same feeling, wanting to fall apart under Rick and feel his lover's warm weight keeping him pinned to the Earth while the rest of him flew.

"I love you," Rick murmured again, unable to stop the words coming out, and his hand found Daryl through his clothing, squeezing tight and warm and Daryl gasped, his moan lost when Rick kissed him again, lazy and deep, and he shuddered and clenched, whining softly in the back of his throat as the knot in his stomach unwound and exploded in a rush of pleasure.

"I…I love you, too," Daryl gasped, his breathing unsteady, his heartbeat hammering behind his eyes. Or maybe that was something else, making them burn and turning the pressure in his head unbearably high. "God, Rick, I do."

Rick ran a hand through Daryl's hair, kissing him gently as he fought to catch his breath. His other hand moved from Daryl's damp, sticky clothing to rest on the blanket by his head, neither of them willing to move just yet to let Rick lie down on his side.

Finally, when they were both breathing normally and the heat had dissipated, leaving them chilled and shivering, Rick moved to one side and pulled the second blanket out to drape over them. Daryl curled in close to Rick, seeking shelter in the other man's warmth, and buried his face in Rick's neck, their legs tangled together and one of Rick's arms thrown across his shoulders.

"I don't want you to leave," Daryl confessed. "I don't want to get married."

Rick squeezed him gently, humming. "Whatever happens, know that I love you," he said gently, his warm lips pressed to Daryl's forehead. "And know that I'm yours."

"I know you are," Daryl replied. "And I'll be married, expected to sire children. Living the life of a scholar or whatever the Hell my father wishes of me. I'll be…changed."

"We both will." Rick sighed and Daryl closed his eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart because he could think of nothing else to say. Silence with Rick had never been uncomfortable but Daryl's skin was buzzing and he wondered, not for the first time, what Rick would say if he suggested they just run from it all and escape into the woods. Daryl knew these woods – he had known them well as a child and had not forgotten, and snuck off to hunt whenever he could get away. He could provide for them and Rick could protect them. They would be alright.

Daryl pulled away just a little after a long moment, looking up into Rick's serene, summer-sky eyes. "When are you leaving?" he asked.

Rick hummed. "A few more days," he said, pulling his arm back so that he could hold Daryl's arm, his thumb idly tracing the bared skin there. "I have a few last-minute things to take care of. Visiting Abraham for weapons, I have to make sure all my things are packed." He shrugged one shoulder.

"I doubt you'll have time to visit me again," Daryl said sadly.

At that, Rick smiled, his eyes lighting up with mischief. "Maybe I'll climb into your bedroom and whisk you away one more time before I go," he said, his smile widening when Daryl laughed.

"I'm not a Goddamn maiden," he teased, punching Rick in the arm lightly.

"Is that a 'No'?"

"It's a 'You fuckin' better'," Daryl said with a haughty laugh, unresisting when Rick pulled him in for another kiss. It lightened him somewhat, knowing that this wasn't the last time he was going to see Rick – over the years they had become very good at sneaking into each other's houses and passing through their estates unseen. Recently Daryl's father had cracked down on his watch, but no one could stop Rick getting somewhere when he set his mind to it.

Rick kissed him one more time, his voice a gentle hum; "I promise I won't disappoint."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to add a Beth/Daryl tag because like it says in the story summary, it's not going to get that far. Also if people believe that this is going to be a Beth-hate story, you would be wrong. I have no intention of demonizing any character, even the Witch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you guys thought I'd forgotten about this one!   
> The chapter's kind of short - I'm trying to ease my way back into it. Writer's block is a biiiiiiiiiiiiiitch.

****

The last time there had been a war, the King had summoned all of his knights and liege lords to stock his keeps and arm his men so that they could all go and fight. Rick remembered seeing his father pack his things, his mother with a stoic look in her teary eyes as she's watched him load his weapons and trunk into a cart to report to the nearest keep for assignment. His father had not been a young man, then, but it was before Carl was born and Rick had been almost a teenager.

It was the way of the world, to be at the beck and call of one's King. One day Carl may need to train just as he was destined to, and journey across the vast river to the south of the Kingdom and then across the sea where knights tended to go to train when they were still fairly green.

Rick had been sparring and learning the ways of combat for as long as he could remember. It was his birthright and his obligation to become and next man who would fight for their King and go to war should the need call for it. There was no war on the horizon that he had heard rumor of – at least none between men. But as the men grew calmer and fat in their keeps, other threats pressed in at their borders. Monsters and cursed beings – demons, and wolves, and dragons. Rick knew of these things in theory, though he had never seen one. The most dangerous thing he had ever fought had been a boar when his father took him hunting for his eighteenth birthday.

Abraham had managed to lessen the amount of times the flail caught, but it still had its issues and Abraham told him as much when Rick went back to pick up the last of his commissioned weapons. He packed his trunk with a week's worth of clothes and was finishing wrapping his sword when he heard a knock at the door.

"Come in," he called, not looking up from where he was wrapping his sword in thick padding and tied it together with pieces of string. He looked up when the door opened, his eyes widening and he immediately pushed himself to his feet when his father entered his room.

He set his sword down on his bed and stood straight, head bowed in a nod as Reginald looked him up and down. Then, the man let out a quiet sigh. "Do you need help with anything?" he asked.

Rick shook his head, biting his lower lip. "I think everything's ready for tomorrow," he said hesitantly. He lifted his eyes to find his father still watching him. "Is everything alright, father?"

Reginald sighed again, running a hand through his thinning hair, and gestured for Rick to sit with him. They took seats at the end of his bed, the sheets ruffled since Rick hadn't bothered to remake it yet, the sword sitting between them.

"I wanted to give you something," Reginald said after a quiet moment. Rick lifted his head to look at him. "Your mother gave it to me as a wedding gift, and then had it remade and reworked when I first went off to war, when you were still in her stomach. She said it would be good luck, and it never failed me. I always lived to come home to her. I'm hoping it will grant you the same good fortune."

Rick looked down as Reginald reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small leather bag. He handed it to Rick, who took the bag and loosened the drawstrings around it. Whatever was inside jingled like fine metal clinking together and he poured the contents into his other hand.

It was a small, silver chain, and on the end of it was a totem. The chain was a full circle, like a necklace. Rick set the bag down and turned the totem over – it was flat and fit into the palm of his hand, the same silver color. His fingers brushed gently over the etching of their family crest. There was a small protrusion in the center and Rick frowned – he could feel a small catch on the side of it. He looked back at his father.

"Open it," Reginald said, his voice soft and encouraging, and Rick bit his lip, his nail tugging on the little catch so that the totem opened, revealing a tiny vial inside no bigger than a child's tooth. "Your mother's house was less…traditional than mine is. They were not Christian and didn't believe in one God, but many. There's a fountain in the middle of the woods, or so they say, deeper than any man may venture, and from this fountain comes water so pure and good that a single drop from it will break any curse, cure any injury. Even if we don't believe in that kind of thing, there's no harm in good luck."

Rick's eyes were wide and he carefully closed the totem, letting out a breath when he heard the soft 'click' as the halves snapped back together. "It must have worked," he said. "You always came back."

"And so will you," Reginald said, putting a hand on Rick's shoulder. "If you keep to your training and obey your masters, I know you'll be a fine knight. You're my son. My blood is in you. I know you'll make me proud."

Rick managed a weak smile, bowing his head. "I hope so." He unraveled the chain of the necklace and slid it over his head – it caught on his nose but he managed to work it down to hang around his neck and he was glad that it wouldn't slide off easily.

Reginald smiled and squeezed Rick's shoulder. "I think it will be an early night for us," he said, standing with a sigh. Rick followed suit so that he stood facing his father. "I'll see you at dinner."

Rick nodded. His father had never been a particularly affectionate man although Rick knew he loved his wife and sons with everything he had. He tucked the totem into his shirt when his father was gone, biting his lip at the touch of cool metal against his skin before his body heat warmed it.

He finished packing and looked around the room with a sigh. It was strange to think that all that he owned and all that was deemed necessary for the next part of his life could fit into such a small amount of space.

He made his way to the stables to bid his mare goodbye. He would be given a horse that had been trained for war when he graduated from his training and with how long some knights could be gone for, it wasn't a guarantee that she would be here when he returned. Carl would look after her, but she had already been born when Rick was a baby and had seen the years pass by with him.

She greeted him with a soft whinny when he approached and he smiled at her, cupping her face in his hands when she put her head and neck over the edge of her stall and snorted against his stomach. He slid one hand up the slip of white on her face, scratching at the dusty thatch of hair on her forehead. She blinked at him, ears relaxed and sloping outward, eyes half-lidded.

"You be good," he told her, resting his forehead against hers, and she snorted as though demanding he do the same. "I'll miss you. We'll go for one last ride tonight, I promise."

Her tail swished lazily, catching flies, and Rick smiled and pulled away from her and left the stables. It was an uncertain limbo, waiting for the night to fall. His head was buzzing as though he kept forgetting things that needed to be done. No matter what he thought over in his head he couldn't come up with a single task to occupy his time or a job that needed to be done before he left. His horse would be cared for by his family, his belongings were packed and had been moved downstairs by servants to be loaded into the coach tomorrow. His father had bid him as much goodbye as a man like him needed – his mother and Carl would likely accompany him to the docks.

All that remained was Daryl.

Rick found himself wandering out towards the fields that stretched between his and Daryl's houses, where the wall was. He trekked that way with the kind of absentness one might have when something in their heart is pulling them in one direction without conscious decision. He found himself climbing the strong oaks grown into the corner of the wall and perching there to look at the pink walls of Daryl's estate.

There were people in the field, and Rick squinted and lifted his hand to shield his eyes so that he could see better. It looked like Lord Dixon had called for an impromptu game of polo or some derivation thereof. The mud had mostly dried but Rick could make out clumps of it flying as the riders charged up and down the length of the field, batting at the ball to score their points. Rick could make out Daryl's brother Merle amongst the fray.

It looked like the game was drawing to a close. With a whoop and a holler the horses slowed down, tossing their heads and neighing loudly. The field was large enough to support three games should someone want to play simultaneously. Rick spied, on the edge of the playing field, calmer riders – there was a woman on a bay horse that was out of place amongst the famous black Dixon stallions. She was petite and blonde, richly dressed and perched on her mount in the classic side-saddle style of riding for ladies from the South.

Daryl was with her. Rick recognized him immediately, sitting on one of his father's large black horses. They had been watching the game and now were conversing and Rick watched as they started to walk their horses along one of the side walls, towards him. Rick shrank back, unsure if he should make himself known.

Daryl didn't look at ease – Rick knew he had no love of horses, especially the giant beasts that his father bred – but Rick could imagine how uncomfortable he felt at that moment as well, forced to play host to foreigners. Rick remembered Daryl telling him he was destined to be married – was that her? The woman engaged to the love of Rick's life?

Rick sat back and let out a curse as his mud-wet boot slipped and he was forced to catch himself on a branch which sent a hearty rustle through the trees. Daryl noticed, because he always did – the hunter in him refused to ignore any hint of life in a tree or bush. Daryl straightened on his horse and Rick let himself be seen.

Daryl's eyes widened and his face exploded in a smile before he schooled his expression. He looked to his companion and pointed towards the trees and she smiled, before they kicked their horses up to a light trot and headed towards Rick. Rick sighed, sitting more comfortably in a more visible spot in the trees, his feet on what few stones in the wall still remained and had not been overtaken by the trees, and waited.

"Rick!" Daryl greeted warmly, slowing his horse down when the animal was almost in danger of running into the wall. He reached out and set a hand on Rick's knee and Rick smiled back, before he pointedly looked at the woman. Daryl's fingers twitched as though remembering that open affection between two men like that was probably not appropriate, and looked back to his companion. "Rick, this is Beth Greene. Beth, this is Rick Grimes. His father owns the estate beyond the wall."

"I know the name Grimes," Beth said with a bright smile. Her eyes were the same color as the sky – she was pretty, and young, and Rick smiled at her, strangely reminded of his mother as he remembered her years ago. "Your father is a Commander, is he not?"

"He is," Rick said with a nod.

"I'm sure my father would like to meet him," she continued. "He's a big fan of his, if I remember his firelight stories well enough."

Rick smiled. "Any friend of Daryl's is welcomed there," he said, before he added, hesitantly; "Are you his betrothed?"

Beth smiled, sending a look Daryl's way. Daryl's jaw clenched and he forced himself to smile and she sighed. "Yes. Word travels fast in this town."

"Rick's my best friend," Daryl said, a little forcefully. "I've known him since as far back as I can remember."

"It wasn't a complaint," Beth said, her voice gentle. She reached out to smooth a hand along the back of Daryl's white knuckles before pulling away and smiling at Rick. "Yes. It came as quite a shock when father first told me, but I suppose that's the way things are." She looked back at Daryl and shook her head. "I'm sure we'll be an amicable match."

Rick nodded. Daryl still looked uncomfortable, his brow furrowed and his eyes dark. He was glaring at Rick as though angry at him having brought it up, but Rick was at a loss of what else to ask about. Finally Daryl huffed and his shoulders rolled as though trying to shrug off the weight of the conversation. "You leave tomorrow, yes?" he asked.

Rick nodded again. "Everything is packed. Mother, Carl and I leave for the docks at dawn."

"The docks?" Beth asked, blinking. "Where are you going?"

"Rick's going to be a knight," Daryl said flatly. "He's going to train."

"Oh!" Beth gasped, her eyes widening. "Well that's…" She shook her head. "Forgive me. My sister's husband was drafted last year to go serve. He's still over the water and it's been very hard for her." She looked at Rick, her eyes soft with sympathy. "I'm sure you will be missed very dearly."

Rick pressed his lips together, his eyes flashing to Daryl before he could think better of it. He was sure Beth saw, and wondered how much she might be able to guess from that look alone. Neither Rick nor Daryl had made the effort to become particularly good liars and actors and Rick remembered how shaken Daryl had been only a few nights before when they'd snuck off into the woods together and slept out there like wildlings.

After a moment Beth shifted her weight and cleared her throat, drawing their attention again. "Rick, I was just about to ask Daryl to take me for a ride through the town. I'd be so happy if you would consider joining us."

Rick's eyes widened and flashed to Daryl. Daryl's lips were pressed together, his knuckles white on his reins. It looked like he desperately wanted Rick to say 'Yes' but they both knew how they were around each other, and it would be difficult to maintain the façade of mere friendship with so long spend together.

But Rick was desperate for something to do and if that something included spending time with Daryl, then he would gladly take that chance. "I'd be delighted," he said brightly, smiling and climbing down from the wall. "I promised my girl I'd take her out one more time before I left anyway."

Daryl smiled – the first of his genuine ones that afternoon, Rick was sure, although it was small and a little strained. "We'll be by your gate in half an hour," he said, and Rick knew the command for what it was. He nodded and bid a brief farewell to both of them before he turned and hurried back to the house.

 

 

He met them on the road outside of his gates, and a servant closed the gates behind him as he trotted out to meet them on the road. Beth smiled brightly at him as he fell into place on the other side of Daryl, keeping Beth pinned to the wall so that she ran less risk of running her animal into other travelers while they rode. Rick's mare nipped at Daryl's mount in a playful greeting, earning a snort from the stallion.

"Stop teasing," Rick said quietly, petting her neck as the stallion snorted, head high as though just held back from prancing. Daryl rolled his eyes and glared at Rick.

"Careful now," he said. "My father will have my hide if one of his gets your mare pregnant."

"It'll unite our houses for good," Rick said with a wink, and Daryl blushed and turned his gaze away.

Beth laughed, happy and young. "My sister's horse was a wild one," she said with a fond smile. "No matter what paddock we kept him in, he always found his way back into the barn with the mares."

"That's poetic," Daryl said. He seemed to have finally relaxed and Rick was glad to see that he was willing to tease Beth, even a little. She made a disapproving sound and flicked her heel at him in jest. It filled Rick with a strange sadness – this woman was going to be Daryl's wife. She would share his home, and his bed, and his love if Daryl let her, and Daryl deserved to have a wife and family and children. They'd have beautiful eyes.

Rick sighed, looking away. The sky was bright where they were but over the forest clouds had gathered, threatening to send a storm their way. The wind was light but constant and brought with it the scent of pending rain.

Rick decided in that moment that he would sneak into Daryl's room that night, he would come and claim whatever piece of Daryl he could in that last day on this land, and soaked in the rain and the mud he would come and spend one last night in a warm bed with his love by his side before his destiny called him back.

"Have you only one sister?" Rick asked when their silence stretched on, amicable but charged. He sensed Beth had a lot of words inside of her and was eager for conversation. Daryl wouldn't always be able to provide that, but if Rick could befriend her enough he might be able to keep a conversation flowing between them and keep up to speed with what was happening back home. He could find a friend in Beth and, through her, make sure Daryl was okay.

Beth nodded. "Older by five years. She's married and has a boy now. Her husband runs messages for the King."

"A courier?" Rick asked.

"Yes!" Beth said.

"I've heard that can be a hard job," Daryl said. "Long roads and a lot of time spent away from home."

"I'd argue that makes the time he is there even more special," Beth said. "They are very much in love. Father let her marry for love." At that her voice became wistful.

"Is there someone you would rather marry?" Daryl asked, and the way he looked at her, Rick knew something like this must have already come up. Rick held his breath, his chest tense and tight, wondering how much Daryl might have told her.

Beth smiled and shook her head. "Not at the moment," she said, her voice kind. "But I'm not too old to have lost the option. I'm sure you understand."

Both Daryl and Rick nodded.

"I imagine when you're knighted your father will expect you to marry, Rick," Beth continued. "Do you have siblings?"

"My brother Carl is many years my junior," Rick replied. "Not even a teenager yet. But he has his eye on the baker's daughter and I'm sure they will marry when they're of age." He smiled, thinking of Carl and Enid, and shrugged. "As for myself, I might live and die a bachelor. I find the idea of marrying a woman and having a family…nice, but not for me."

"Your father's war-blood runs too deep, I expect," Beth said with a sly smile. "There are men like that every generation. They would rather keep the world safe and wander. It is because of men like you that men like your brother can have that kind of life. It's honorable."

Rick nodded, though he wasn't sure he agreed. In truth he would love to marry and have a family and live his life in comfortable solitude, but the only person he could see himself doing that with was Daryl. It would always be Daryl.

"We're to be married in the spring," Daryl said after a moment, his dark eyes on Rick. "If you have leave, I would be very happy if you could be there. Carl, too."

Rick smiled, but it was a sad thing. "I will try my hardest to make sure I'm there," he promised. "And I'll write to both of you as often as I'm able."

Beth smiled. "That would be lovely."

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implies versatile Rickyl but this chapter is just bottom!Daryl.

Daryl stirred, the sound of rain pattering against his window rousing him from a fitful sleep full of hazy dreams. He rolled onto his stomach and groaned against the fine linens, shaking his head as he tried to tune out the sound of the rain. He had been like this since he was a boy, roused by the lightest sound. His father used to use it to his advantage, and told Daryl to come to him whenever he heard Merle sneaking out at night. Daryl had quickly learned, however, that the secrecy he kept with his brother made his favor that much easier and if Daryl ever wanted Merle to escort him into town or sneak him some of the sweet cakes from the kitchen, he was better off keeping his mouth shut.

Wind whipped up, sending the rain against his window again, but this time he also heard a light tapping, too rhythmic and too certain to be water. He frowned, pushing himself upright. There was very little moonlight out at this time of the month and the darkness of his window gaped like the open mouth of a great beast.

Then, he heard the knock again, and a soft 'Daryl' called from the outside.

His eyes widened and he shoved himself to his feet, grabbing his robe from a chair by his bed and hastily wrapping it around his body as he approached the window. A candle long-snuffed out sat by the window and he lit it, revealing the silhouette of a person hanging onto his window.

It was Rick. Daryl would know his voice anywhere.

He opened the window and Rick climbed inside, sodden and shivering from the rain. Daryl closed the window behind him quickly and latched it shut before he turned to regard Rick.

The heat in his room when compared to the outside had already started to turn Rick's cheeks pink, his sodden hair sticking to his face and neck. He smiled at Daryl – that same boyish, wide lopsided thing that Daryl had quickly found himself thinking about whenever he was lonely, when they were younger – and pushed his hair back from his face.

"How did you…?" Daryl shook his head. The vines coating the outside of his home were thick and strong but only someone very determined would think to climb them. Of course, Rick had always been a determined man.

"I had to see you," Rick said. "Before I left."

Daryl nodded and set the candle down. "I don't think my father will allow me to see you off."

"No, probably not," Rick replied with a sad smile. He shivered again, his clothes clung tightly to him from the rain and left nothing of his shape to Daryl's imagination.

"Christ, you're freezing," Daryl said, and pulled off his robe to wrap it around Rick's shoulders. Rick accepted the warm, dry piece of clothing gratefully, his fingers curling in the halves as he pulled it around his shoulders. Daryl's hands found his, fingers grazing against Rick's lightly as he tried to warm his hands.

Rick sighed, leaning their foreheads together, and cupped Daryl's neck with one chill hand. "I want to run away," he confessed, quietly like to a priest. His eyes were bright but sad, his voice wistful. "Knowing I'm going to wake up tomorrow and not see you, not be able to come visit you, makes me not want to go. I want to steal you away."

"I'd let you, if this was another story," Daryl replied, equally soft. Rick huffed and tugged on him, bringing Daryl's body close to his, and kissed him deeply. The touch of their lips sent a spark of lightning down Daryl's spine and his head felt cold like he had stepped out into the rain.

"I love you," Rick murmured between one kiss and the next.

"And I love you," Daryl replied, as eager to share in Rick's love and affection as Rick was. Rick had always given himself over to Daryl's touches and words freely, like there was no shame in it, nothing they had to keep secret and hidden away. Daryl yearned for that kind of freedom, where they could be wild and warm and nothing about society would bother them. "Are you going to stay a while?"

Rick nodded, breaking from their embrace. His eyes flashed to Daryl's bed, dark and wide, before he bit his lower lip. "I confess I had intentions, coming over here," he said, smiling lopsidedly again. He reached for Daryl's hand and took it, thumb brushing across the other man's knuckles. "I know when you're married…"

"Please," Daryl said, putting his free hand to Rick's mouth. "Let's not talk about that."

Rick nodded and tugged on Daryl's hand, bringing him close so that they could kiss again. "Daryl, I…" He cleared his throat and bit his lower lip, cheeks turning a darker pink at whatever he was thinking. Daryl cocked his head to one side.

Rick had never lain with him the way a man laid with his wife. They touched each other, used their hands and mouths whenever they had the time and the privacy, but nothing more than that. Daryl did not know what it felt like to be inside of someone, and he knew Rick didn't either. He had thought about it – those same visions where Rick rode up on his wild mare and swept him away, they often ended deep in the forest with Rick's hands on his shoulders and Rick penetrating his body, wringing every moan and shudder Daryl's body could give from him until they were both lax and spent.

Daryl bit his lip when Rick didn't say anything else, but Daryl could read the want in his eyes. He nodded and Rick's eyes flashed, his fingers tightened on Daryl's wrist, and he started to coax Daryl back towards the bed, letting the robe fall from his shoulders as he went.

Daryl kissed him when they stood at the foot of the bed. "Bare yourself to me," he said, breathless with it, and Rick nodded, sucking in a deep breath before he let go of Daryl and slid his hands to the hem of his tunic, pulling it up and over his head and baring his chest. Rick was physically fit but Daryl knew after training as a knight he'd have more muscle, be broad and intimidating like the rest of the soldiers were. His mouth felt dry and he leaned in to kiss some of the moisture from Rick's shoulder as Rick's trembling hands went to his leggings and pushed them down, before he stepped out of them along with his boots and he was completely naked.

Daryl's breath left him in a gasp. Rick was beautiful, refined and gorgeous in the candlelight. He looked like something from another world, blessed with the gifts that his mother's Gods gave men before they turned Christian and faded away from Pagan rituals. Rick smiled at him and pulled him in for another kiss, his hands sliding down Daryl's clothed flanks.

Rick moaned quietly against Daryl's mouth and Daryl could feel where he was hardening against Daryl's stomach, pressing his cock gently against Daryl's shirt. "You or me?" Daryl asked, forcing his hands to his own clothing so that he could shed them.

Rick let out a quiet, sad noise. "I wish we had time for both," he said.

"We have all night, don't we?"

Rick nodded, before his eyes darkened. "I want you," he said. "I want that secret part of you no one else will have. Not even your wife."

"It's yours," Daryl replied. He was naked now as well and came back to Rick, letting their bodies slot together in a way that felt so natural Daryl had no idea how it could be called a sin. "All of me is yours."

Rick growled, tugging on Daryl's hips and then he turned them and pushed Daryl onto his back on his bed. Daryl crawled up until he was laying across it fully and Rick covered him, settling between his thighs as he had done in the woods mere nights before. Daryl shivered, feeling Rick's cock slide against his own – it was so much better without any clothes separating them. Daryl's greedy hands could feel each line of Rick's muscles, trace every tremble and shiver.

"Do you have anything we can use?" Rick asked, and Daryl nodded. Years ago he had injured himself during a hunt and the servants had brought him oil and massaged his bruised leg to help the muscle get better, and he had kept the jar for nights when he got lonely and his mouth was too dry to use spit.

"In my desk," Daryl said, and Rick nodded and stood, going over to it and finding the jar immediately. He returned to Daryl in an instant and lay over him again, kissing him deeply, one hand in Daryl's hair.

"Have you used it…for this before?" Rick asked, already breathless. Daryl bit his lip and shook his head and Rick nodded. "Alright."

"Have you?" Daryl asked, unable to contain his curiosity. It was such a decadent thought, Rick in his own bed at home, a hand on his cock and fingers coaxed deep into him. Daryl knew women could experience pleasure during this act, and saw no reason for a man not to enjoy it as well. But no one would speak about such things with him. Men didn't get penetrated, after all.

Rick shook his head as well, biting his lower lip. "Tell me if you need me to stop," he said, and Daryl nodded. Rick knelt up, bare and shining in the low light, and carefully unscrewed the jar and dipped his fingers into the oil.

He spread the slick around his fingers, getting it warm, before he set the jar down on the chair by Daryl's bed and pushed at one of his thighs to get his legs to spread a little farther apart. Daryl sucked in a breath, whining softly in encouragement, and arched his hips up as Rick's fingers fell to his hole. Rick was watching him with something like awe, his eyes wide and dark, before he started to push one finger into Daryl's body.

Daryl went tense, whining softly, his thighs trembling as his body fought the intrusion of something inside of him. He didn't tell Rick to stop, though – this was what he wanted. He _wanted_ Rick inside of him. He wanted to feel all that Rick could give him.

He whimpered quietly when Rick slid his finger in a little deeper, a low curse falling from both of them. "You're so tight," Rick gasped. "I don't know how I'll fit."

"We'll make it fit," Daryl replied, petulant and determined, and Rick laughed and leaned over him to kiss him. The action made his finger go in all the way and Daryl moaned against his mouth, his gut clenching up in something like anticipation. There was something there, some instinct in his body demanding he roll his hips and try to get Rick deeper, but Rick's finger couldn't get any deeper inside of him. He let out a plaintive whine. "Rick, _please_."

"You think I can try adding another?" Rick asked, and Daryl nodded. He was starting to sweat, the heat of Rick's body over him making him shiver with it. Rick's skin was cool but rapidly warming up and Daryl couldn't wait until they both started to burn.

Rick kissed him again, licking another sweet moan from Daryl as he started to work in a second slick finger. Daryl's body accepted it as easily as it could, submitting to the intrusion when it felt so foreign and wild. He thought about the fantasies he'd had, of Rick taking him against a tree, or the two of them rolling together in a field of wildflowers, chasing and pinning each other down until one of them won. In those scenarios Daryl always won, the muscles in his shoulders and arms keeping Rick pinned on his back as Daryl lay with him and used his body like they were no better than his father's horses.

Rick sank both fingers in as deeply as they could go, and then twisted up as he pulled them back, and Daryl let out a loud cry, jerking underneath Rick's weight.

"Daryl, shh," Rick said, going still and listening with wide eyes to any sounds coming from Daryl's door.

Daryl gasped, clenching his eyes shut and tilting his head back against the pillows. "Sorry, I -." He bit on his knuckles to muffle his low grown. "That felt…so good. Please. Do that again."

Rick smiled, one eyebrow raised, and he pushed his fingers deep into Daryl and curled them up again and Daryl whined, biting on his hand again as he felt that ricochet of pleasure strike behind his eyes. It felt like falling from his horse, crashing over his body in something like pain but the opposite – it felt good when Rick touched him, there was something there that reacted to Rick's touches like a sensitive wound.

His cock twitched and he put his free hand there, stroking slowly. "Again," he demanded, and Rick obeyed, pushing his fingers against that spot and it felt so good, Daryl's cut clenched up tightly and he let out a soft whine. " _Christ_ , Rick, that…"

"Remember this when it's my turn," Rick growled, kissing at his neck since Daryl's mouth was occupied. Daryl nodded, breathing heavily as Rick continued to stroke over that spot. That, combined with Daryl's hand, was threatening to send him over the edge far too soon.

"Rick, _Rick_ , stop…" Daryl whined, and Rick went still, pulling away to see his face. His expression was a mask of concern and Daryl shook his head, raising his hand to pet over Rick's cheek. "I want to finish with you inside me."

Rick's eyes flashed darkly and he let out a soft moan, before pulling his fingers out. "Okay," he said, and used what was left of the oil on his hands to stroke it down his own cock, getting himself as slick as possible. Daryl's body went tight with anticipation as Rick's big hands flattened on his hips, smoothing out and tightening. "Tell me if it's too much. I'm not in a hurry."

"I am," Daryl bit out, making Rick laugh again.

Then, Rick sucked in a breath and inched closer, pushing Daryl's thighs apart with his own and lifting Daryl's hips higher on his lap. He let go with one hand to grab his cock and angle it against Daryl's slick hole. His cockhead was much bigger than his fingers and Daryl whined, grabbing Rick's wrist tightly as Rick started to push into him.

"Too much?" Rick asked, hesitant.

Daryl shook his head. "Don't stop," he begged, and Rick nodded and obeyed, forcing his cock in until the ring of muscle parted for it, Daryl's body accepting Rick inside of it as easily as Daryl could make it. It felt like Rick was splitting him apart, like he might tear or break, but Rick was gentle with him and went slowly. Daryl felt the energy in him like he was mounted on one of his father's stallions, the animal ready to rear and gallop forward.

Then Rick was inside of him, all the way, the heat of him thick between Daryl's thighs, and Daryl moaned quietly again, shivering with effort. He tightened his thighs and wrapped his legs around Rick's waist and Rick collapsed over him, breathing out heavily, his hands going to Daryl's hair.

" _Daryl_ ," Rick growled, like Daryl's name was the same as God's. Daryl shivered, turning his head to catch Rick's slack mouth in a kiss. The action made Rick shudder, his cock twitching hotly in Daryl's body and Daryl moaned when he felt Rick's cockhead brush up against that spot inside of him again.

"Move," Daryl commanded breathlessly, and Rick's wide eyes fell closed as he pushed himself a little more upright so his weight wasn't crushing Daryl. His shoulders were tense and his hips rolled, pushing in just a little more and then pulling back, his cockhead teasing over that spot inside of Daryl again and Daryl cursed, his hand going back to his cock to stroke in time with Rick's shallow thrusts.

"H-How does it feel?" Rick asked, lifting his head so he could see Daryl's eyes.

Daryl licked his lips and put his free hand in Rick's hair, tugging gently. Rick met him in another kiss, low groans wrenched out of both of them as Rick thrust in again, unable to keep still.

"It feels…" Too many words came into Daryl's head at once and none of them seemed adequate to describe the feeling of Rick being inside of him, as close as two human bodies can be. He let go of Rick's hair and pressed his hand against Rick's chest instead, able to feel his thundering heart. "It feels _right_."

" _God_ , Daryl, I love you," Rick said breathlessly. He pushed himself upright and put his hands behind Daryl's thighs, forcing him to curl up as Rick started to move with more rhythm and intention. Daryl moaned softly, stroking his cock in time with Rick's steady thrusts. "I want to stay like this forever."

It was a sentiment Daryl understood well. He whined as Rick moved inside of him, his stomach going tense and pleasure sweeping down his spine like someone was putting it in there, replacing his bones with fire. He tightened his hand on his cock and gasped.

"I'm going to -." Rick moaned, nodding frantically, and sped up his pace as Daryl tightened up. Rick felt unbearably large inside of him, his untried body and muscles spasming around Rick, and then Daryl's free hand flew to his mouth to stifle his cry as he came, jerking into his hand and writhing where he was pinned underneath Rick. Rick didn't stop and each strike against that spot in him was white-hot, cruel with how good it felt. Daryl closed his eyes tightly and moaned again, arching up against his lover like Rick could keep him floating this high forever.

Then, Rick stilled with a low growl and pushed Daryl's hand away so that they could kiss. Daryl was too slack to respond as he normally did but Rick seemed to find great pleasure in that, in how Daryl's lips moved slowly and his body kept giving soft, shuddering twitches as Rick continued to move against him.

Rick thrust deep inside of him, his hands tight on Daryl's thighs, and Daryl sighed as he felt Rick's cock twitch as the other man spilled inside of him. Like Daryl was his wife in their marriage bed. Daryl couldn't think of a single couple in all of history that had met each other for the first time with such passion.

Rick kissed him again, and again, until he was too soft to stay inside of Daryl and pulled out of him with a wet sound. He let go of Daryl's thighs and covered him, crushing him with his weight and Daryl moaned, his dirty hand going to Rick's hair and twisting tightly.

Rick huffed a quiet laugh. "I know I'm going to see amazing things," he said, shaking his head. "None of them will compare to you."

Daryl rolled his eyes, his cheeks turning pink, and he kissed Rick again. "Will you spend the night with me?"

Rick nodded. "Until first light," he promised. "Then I have to leave."

Daryl bit his lip and nodded. "I already miss you," he confessed, pressing his fingers to Rick's heaving, red chest. "Is that strange?"

Rick shook his head. "No," he replied gently. "I'll write to you as often as I am able. And I'll visit when I can. This isn't forever, Daryl."

Daryl kissed him instead of replying. He couldn't shake the feeling that, when dawn broke, everything would change. Without Rick, there was no light in Daryl's life. There was no reason to leave the house, no reason to spend days staring out of the window and imagining the wild there and dreaming about having this man share it with him. There was nothing but the looming promise of his wedding night and the ever-present thought that one wrong move, one stray arrow, and he might never see Rick again.

He didn't say any of that, though. Rick already knew. So he kissed Rick and when they had recovered he allowed Rick to touch him and slide deep into his body once more, the two of them staining the bed with sweat and need until it was an hour before dawn and Rick had to leave him.

Rick went to his window and kissed him until Daryl's head felt clouded and heavy. The candle had long burned out, and when Rick left, Daryl was once again enveloped in darkness. The rain had stopped, and Daryl slid back into bed that stank of his lover, and hoped that he might be able to sleep until Rick came back, days or weeks or years from now, and whisked him away into the woods.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in writing........well, everything. Things have been crazy busy and my anxiety decided to have an impromptu visit so everything was just too draining. But I'm feeling better now, so have some Shane!

Dawn broke brightly on the Grimes and Dixon estates, coloring the grass a gorgeous green and making the rain that had fallen the night before shine upon them. Rick looked out of his window towards Daryl's pink house. He didn't allow himself to smile. He didn't allow himself to think of anything. If he did, he would likely run to the stables, grab his mare and flee to Daryl's house and then beyond.

He sighed and turned around as he grabbed his bag and left his room, blowing out the candle as he did so. His trunk and weapons had already been loaded out into the carriage and his mother and Carl were waiting for him. His father had already bid him farewell, and the necklace he'd given Rick sat like a cool reminder against his heart. Reginald was not an emotional man but Rick knew his father loved both him and Carl dearly. It would likely break the man's heart to ride with him to the docks and see him boarded.

He went downstairs and grabbed a bread roll from the table, biting into it as he stepped outside. The air was cool and crisp, winter was sitting at the heels of autumn like a fat cat eyeing a skittish mouse, waiting for the right time to spring.

His mare and Carl's gelding were hooked up to the carriage and Carl and Deanna were waiting outside. His mother smiled brightly at him as he approached, tears in her eyes. He handed his bag to Carl, reminded of one more thing, and nodded to them before heading towards the stables.

"Nicolas?" he called, smiling when he saw the lame stable-hand appear from an empty stall. The boy grinned at him brightly and bowed his head in greeting.

"Mornin', m'lord!" he said. In the closest stall, the painted filly Nicolas had shown him before whinnied in a happy greeting and pricked her ears up, bright blue eye winking as she put her head over her stall door and nudged at Rick's arm. Rick smiled and ran his hands through her long piece of mane running down her face. "How can I help you?"

"You said you would keep me updated on her progress, right?" Rick said, nodding to the filly. Nicolas nodded. "I don't know how long I'll be gone, and I don't expect letters or updates or anything like that, but I'd like to know now – how long until you think she'll be a good mount for someone?"

Nicolas blinked at him and rubbed at his patchy facial hair as he thought. "Well, she's older than I first thought, that's about as big as she's gonna get. She's smart, too, she'll pick up pretty easy. I think I should have her good come next year. Why?"

Rick nodded. "Do you think I could persuade you to part with her, when she's ready?"

Nicolas cocked his head to one side.

"I'd like to give her as a wedding gift, to Daryl Dixon and his wife, Beth. Those horses they breed there aren't for ladies, and I know Daryl has no love of them. What do you think?"

Nicolas smiled. "Then I'll still get to see her! That's a thoughtful gift, m'lord. When are they getting married?"

"Next spring. I'm not sure of the date yet."

"Spring's no problem," Nicolas replied with another enthusiastic nod. "She'll be ready by then. I'll make sure she does you proud."

Rick smiled and nodded, parting from the horse with one more pet to her soft muzzle. "Thank you, Nicolas. You're a good man. I appreciate all the service you've given to my house, and when I come back I'll be sure you're rewarded for it."

"Thank you, m'lord!" Nicolas replied, smiling as well, and Rick left with another nod and returned to Carl and Deanna.

"Are you ready?" his mother asked, smoothing her hands down the front of her dress. It was a nervous habit that she had had as long as he could remember. She did it to stop herself fidgeting. Rick nodded, swallowing harshly, his throat tight. He helped Deanna into the carriage and then Carl, before getting in himself and closing the door. He tapped on the roof and the driver gave a soft whistle and then they were moving.

"What's it like, where the knights train?" Carl asked after a moment.

Rick pressed his lips together. "Father told me, at first, I'm going to be South in the Kingdom. It's sunnier there, but there aren't as many hills. The capital is a huge city full of buildings, he said. But I don't think I'll be going there – there's an encampment by the coast, on the cliffs. That's where I'll start. And if I'm good they might send me out farther, across the sea, to the desert."

Carl's eyes were wide. "How long…" He cleared his throat. "How long until they know how good you are?"

Rick shrugged and smiled, flinging an arm over Carl's shoulders and hugging him close. "Guess that depends on my commander, don't it?"

"Well, you're obviously the best knight the Kingdom will ever have," Carl said with a roll of his eyes, and even though the praise made Rick's chest feel warm, Carl's voice was heavy with sadness. "I suppose you'll be gone for a long time, then."

"Unless there's a war, knights typically must serve for four years," Deanna said, as though reminding herself. "But you'll be allowed to visit. Your father was, every few months or so, for a few days." She pressed her lips together and smoothed her hands down her dress again. "Things might have changed. I hope they haven't."

"I'm sure I'll be allowed to visit," Rick said. "And I'll write when I can."

Deanna smiled, this watery and sad thing. She was happy for Rick, he could tell – serving as a knight and training to defend the Kingdom was a high honor and even though all firstborn men were drafted, not all of them made the cut. They all knew Rick was good enough and from a rich enough bloodline that he would be made to stay and serve at least his minimal term.

Four years. Four years without seeing his mother's face every day, or riding his mare, or training with Carl, or being able to see and touch Daryl whenever he could. It would be torture, and how much would life back home change in his absence? Rick had seen entire towns rise and fall in less than a season. He couldn't imagine how four years would change everything.

They fell into a sad, companionable silence as the carriage crested the rise of a hill, revealing the harbor just beyond. They had a little more than half an hour until they reached the port town. Rick looked out of the window, his eyes wide at the tall masts and impressive sails lining the shore with various house crests. Rick's house had never invested in the sea, they had no ships and didn't do trade by ocean. Rick could see, the biggest ship of them all with a sail emblazoned with the King's seal – a knight clad in gold on his black horse, rearing over a slain red dragon.

He let out a heavy breath, suddenly feeling nervous, but didn't dare say anything. The carriage went into the town and towards the docks and pulled to a stop amid a cacophony of merchants selling their wares, over ship crews yelling at each other and hoisting their loads to and from their vessels, and in front of the King's ship was a single soldier, a squire at his side holding a long checklist.

The carriage stopped and Rick got out and approached the soldier. He was a general, clad in golden armor to mark him as one of the King's generals, the King's seal shining on his breastplate and a heavy red cloak hanging from his shoulders. He bore himself like a God, gazing down with a stern, unimpressed expression as Rick approached.

"Good morning, Commander," Rick greeted with a salute as his father had taught him. "House Grimes, Richard."

The man nodded and looked to his squire, who hastily unfolded and re-folded his paper to find Rick's name. "Due for First Encampment. Cabin on the third deck."

"Welcome to the fold, Richard Grimes," the general said. "I am Commander Gregory and you will be serving under me until I deem you fit to transfer. Are you ready to board now?"

Rick nodded.

"Good. We will have your things loaded, we ship out in an hour."

Rick nodded again and walked back to the carriage, grabbing his bag from Carl as some of the ship's crew came forward to hoist down his trunk and wrapped weapons. Carl hugged him tightly and Rick hugged him back, crouching down so that he could put his face against Carl's hair and kiss him on the top of his head. "Be good for mother and father," he told him, and Carl nodded, teary-eyed as he stepped away. Rick smiled and raised his eyes to his mother.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," Deanna said, putting a hand to her mouth and then reaching out to cup Rick's cheek. "I feel like I'll never see you again and I know that's ridiculous."

Rick smiled, his heart heavy with the same feeling. He put a hand on her arm and pulled her forward to kiss her on the cheek. "I love you," he told her, and she smiled weakly, letting out a quiet, sad sound. "I'll write as soon as I can. You'll get sick of trying to read my terrible scrawl."

At that, she let out a shaky laugh, wiping at her eyes. "Go on, get out of here so you can come back to me."

Rick nodded again, sighing. He knew it would be inappropriate, but he had hoped Daryl would have been able to sneak to the docks and bid him farewell as well. But they had already said their goodbyes, in the sound of rain hitting Daryl's window and the scent of Daryl's sweat on his tongue, and the way Daryl had held him so tightly like if he wished for it hard enough, he and Rick would find themselves a thousand miles away and would be able to do as they pleased.

He turned and walked up the gangplank to the deck of the ship. Another man greeted him and led him to one of the lower decks, telling him that he'd be boarded in the last cabin on the left. "We leave within the hour, and will be having lunch at noon." Then he left and Rick nodded, sighing again, and walked down the gently listing hallway until he reached his cabin.

He walked in and let out a shriek of alarm. "Jesus!" he said, covering his eyes and turning away.

"Aww, shit, man. Sorry!" came a voice, laughing and out of breath as the two occupants of the room separated and pulled a cover around themselves in a haphazard attempt to hide their nakedness. It was a man and a woman, both of them red-faced and clearly out of breath. Rick cleared his throat, not sure if he should stay or leave. "Come in, come in, don't just stand there. Sorry!"

Rick shook his head, tentatively lowering his hand from his eyes, and breathed out and closed the door when he deemed the two suitably covered. The woman was slim and bright-eyed, her eyes and hair brown, gold bracelets circling her wrists. There was a sheer, pink piece of clothing on the floor that Rick had to assume left very little to the imagination.

The man was thickly-built, muscles in his shoulders and chest bulging where he was sitting on his cot, the woman draped behind him and relying pretty much solely on his body to cover herself. She rested her chin on the man's shoulder and grinned at Rick, one hand rising to wiggle her fingers in a playful wave.

"He's so embarrassed," she stage-whispered to her companion. The man grinned – he had a bright, charming smile, his hair cut short but fluffy from the humidity, his dark eyes wide and friendly. "Have pity on him, my love."

"Look, man, I'm sorry," the man said, holding out his hand like he was trying to placate a startled horse. "I swear to all the Gods, I didn't know I'd be getting a roommate until next port."

"It's fine," Rick said, setting his bag down on his own bed. They were minimalistic, plain things, a single blanket and pillow on each and a thin mattress. Rick was used to things like this and it reminded him strangely of home, when he was younger, before his father's titles and riches had started to really flow. "I can leave for a while if you'd like."

"Nah, she was all finished," the man said, turning his head to kiss the woman's blushing cheek. She giggled and covered her mouth. "And I can wait."

They didn't seem interested in moving to put on clothes so Rick cleared his throat again and sat down awkwardly, looking down at his hands.

"Name's Shane," the man finally said, taking pity on him again. He held his hand out and grinned that brilliant grin again and Rick found himself smiling back, and shook his hand. "Walsh. My family's from more West, silk merchants and shit like that. You?"

"Uh, Rick," Rick replied, swallowing. "Grimes. My father was a general in the King's army when he was younger." His eyes darted up and met the pair's, both of them still grinning widely at him. The woman was obviously enjoying his discomfort. "I thought we, ah, weren't allowed to bring our wives with us," he said.

Shane laughed. "Lori ain't my wife," he said with a wink. He moved and pulled her in front of him and gave her another kiss on the cheek. Rick averted his eyes for the sake of her modesty, flinching when Shane's big hand came down in a playful slap across her ass. "Why don't you put some clothes on before our new friend here dies of his boner?"

Rick cleared his throat. "I assure you, that's not -."

Shane laughed again. "I'm kiddin', man. Lighten up!" Lori laughed and bent down to grab her dress which – thankfully – had a slip on the inside to cover her breasts and ran down to her thighs. It was still a revealing piece of clothing but at least Rick didn't have to deal with seeing her completely bare. Not that it would matter – Lori was a beautiful woman, and Shane an attractive man, but Rick didn't know if he ever had it in him to think about things like that for anyone except Daryl.

His fingers curled and he cleared his throat again.

Shane sighed and slouched down on his bed and Lori hummed, draping herself over Shane's body again, above the blanket. She rested her head on his chest and looked at Rick and Rick was reminded of how he'd laid with Daryl, just the night before – how in the quiet moments when they needed rest Daryl would hold him and cling to him as though nothing could tear them apart. He smiled at her and she smiled back.

"Even if she's not your wife, I would have assumed she's not allowed to be here," Rick said. After all, Daryl wasn't his wife. But that was different.

Shane grinned. "If I can't charm my way around anythin', she can," he said. He wrapped an arm around Lori's shoulders and pulled her up so that he could kiss the top of her head. "Ain't no one tellin' me I can't have my woman by my side."

Rick smiled, looking down, his chest warm with affection. He could tell Shane was a good man, and would likely become a good friend if they ended up in the same encampment together.

"You got a girl you're leavin' behind?"

Rick swallowed and shook his head. "No."

Lori lifted her head, eyes narrowed as she looked him over. "A boy?" she asked, and Rick's eyes snapped up to her, and he was sure that gave him away immediately. She smiled at him and laid back down. "You don't need to worry about that with us. We're not as uptight in the West."

"I imagine silk merchants aren't as strict about the King's commands as knights are," Rick agreed with a smirk.

Shane laughed. "You got that right," he said, and held his hand out in a broad, sweeping gesture. "A girl or boy in every port. Or one of each, if that's your thing." He squeezed his arm around Lori's shoulders again. "Until this one came along."

Lori giggled again, raising her head to look at Shane, and kissed the underside of his jaw. Rick's heart thumped once, heavy with loss, and he sighed and made himself more comfortable on his bed, stretching his legs out in front of him and resting his shoulders against the wall.

"At least that's one less dick I gotta worry about," Shane said, kissing Lori's head again. "Grimes, you help me keep an eye on these guys, right, brother? I'll snap the neck of anyone who looks at her wrong."

Rick couldn't help smile at that, huffing a laugh. "Sure," he said, already warm at the affectionate nickname. _Brother_. Of course, being soldiers and knights together, anyone Rick served with would have to rely on and trust him to have their back in a battle, but if he was stationed with Shane and Lori, who already knew his secret and didn't judge him for it, he was sure he could find fast friends in the both of them.

"Also, just so you know, I can't swing a sword worth a damn. So, you know, try not to make me look bad, Mister Son-of-a-General."

Rick laughed again, feeling lighter than he had in weeks since he got the news that this was to be his destiny. "Sure thing, Shane."


	6. Chapter 6

_Daryl,_

_I'm writing this letter on the third day before September's full moon. It has been a long few weeks since I've arrived here, and at the same time the days pass so quickly I feel it's an hour between the time I wake up and the time I go to sleep._

_I am sharing a cabin with three others – there is a man who calls himself Bob. He has a kind face and likes to tell incredible stories, so many that I have to believe there is some truth to all of them. I imagine you would be much better at figuring out where he's giving stories a certain amount of flair. The second man is one I shared a cabin with on the ship. Shane Walsh, and his wife Lori. She's not really his wife, which is how Shane tells me she was permitted to accompany him, but I'm certain they will marry soon. I have already found fast and understanding friendship in the three of them and I hope that, should we all be transferred elsewhere, we will do so together._

_As I said, the days pass by quickly here. When we are not eating or sleeping, we are training. I knew there were monsters from father's stories and his books, but I hardly imagined how many or how varied they were. I confess it makes me afraid. There is no war and none on the horizon, but I can't help dreaming of terrible things happening to the people I love now that I know more of what's out there. I pray that you will never have to see it._

_I will write again when I am able. The only moments I can steal to myself are few and far between, and I hesitate to write too often in case it comes under scrutiny. Few of my companions know how to write at all, and I have promised to be scribe to some of them so that they may write home as well, so I am uncertain as to how often I might be able to write for myself. The encampment is large and there are almost one thousand of us here._

_I think about home often. The air here is ripe with salt and sweat. Every morning I go to the cliffs and the sea kicks at them as though trying to drive the rock into the ground. It's an amazing sight. I hope one day you might get to see it. I think you would like the ocean._

_I will write again when I am able. Please give my regards to your family, and to Beth._

_Yours Faithfully,_

_Rick._

_Mother,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Life here is vastly different from home. I find myself so exhausted at the end of each day that I simply collapse into sleep whenever we are allowed to return to our beds. I miss you terribly, and hope that the days are passing more quickly for you than they are for me. I know winter will soon hit, and pray that you, Father, and Carl will be comfortable and warm during the snows._

_I have already made excellent friends in the form of my cabin-mates and other soldiers with whom I am training. The atmosphere here is very much like I imagined it would be, almost exactly like Father's stories said. I am learning a great deal. I want to ask that you do not worry for my sake, though I know you will. I am not certain how often I may be able to write – I have promised my services to several of my companions who cannot write well enough themselves, so that they may send their own regards to their families. I know that it is the right thing to do, although I worry for my eyes writing this much under candlelight when the night approaches._

_Your loving son,_

_Rick._

_Father,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. Abraham's weapons are serving me well and I am confident to say I am proving competent in most things. I favor the sword and Commander Gregory says that I am doing my house proud to use it. I keep the totem close to my heart at all times so that I may honor our promise to Mother to return home safely, although I am still unsure when I may visit._

_I am doing my best to honor you and our house and our King to the best of my ability. Commander Gregory has enlisted me to learning Draconian language and I am charged with learning about more monsters and vile things than I imagined existed. I have dedicated myself wholly to my studies and training._

_I know you know what it's like here. I confess sometimes that I feel fear, but I know bravery is only possible when one feels fear. They have monsters here in heavy cages that they bring out for us to train with. I believe my Commander's intention is to train me specifically to fight the fire-beasts and night-dwellers, but there has been no special order for that. I hope to do you proud._

_With love and respect,_

_Richard._

_Carl,_

_I'm so sorry it took me so long to write. I know I've been gone an unforgivably long time without any word and I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me for that. Look after Mother, I know she worries, and I would hate for her health to suffer while I'm away._

_I have made good friends here that I am sure Mother and Father would disapprove of in their own way, but I think you would like Shane and Lori. Shane is from a silk merchant family and I am going to try and persuade him to write to his father and buy some silks for Mother and Enid, for you to give to her._

_There are terrible things here, Carl. Please don't speak of them to our parents or to Daryl – I don't want them to worry. I am in good health and fine spirits but I have no idea what the future may hold, so I'm reluctant to write with too much confidence. I hope to write again as soon as I am able._

_Be good and respectful to our parents, and learn all that you can from them._

_With love,_

_Rick._

_Lady Greene,_

_I hope you won't mind the informal and intimate address of this letter. To me you are already family – as Daryl's future wife I consider you a close friend already and I hope that you will find happiness and comfort as Lady Dixon when the time comes._

_I write with advice and an offer of friendship. I have known Daryl my entire life and I am confident when I say I might know him best until you have had time to become properly acquainted with him. Please, do not take personal offence if he seems quiet or withdrawn. He has always been like that. He is a studious man and takes refuge in solitude often, but he is a good man and a dear friend and I know he will love you as your own family once he becomes comfortable._

_There is a stable hand under my Father's service that I would ask you to visit. His name is Nicolas, and he is training a filly under my request that I hope to gift to you when she is a fit mount for a lady. He knows which filly I mean and if you were to visit he would happily show her to you. I believe she will serve you well if you would like her._

_I hope to be there for your wedding. Please do not hesitate to write for anything you might need. I am your faithful servant._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Rick Grimes._

"Alright, again!"

Rick twisted his sword in his hand. It was a light one, the edges dull so that they wouldn't do much more damage than a nasty bruise when swung with all one's might at one's dueling partner. Still, Rick's arm was sore from training. Everything was sore, and he had bruises all along his arms, his shoulders, and his sides and legs from well-placed blows from his sparring partners.

Shane grinned at him. He was breathing heavily, his cheeks red from exertion. "Tired already, brother?" he taunted. What he had said was true – he couldn't swing a sword for his life when they'd first started, but after weeks and months of heavy training he had gotten much better.

Rick grinned back and lunged. Shane parried and spun around with a heavy grunt, aiming for Rick's side. Rick jumped back, the tip of Shane's sword swinging past his chest. He knocked at the sword to put Shane off balance and grabbed his chainmail vest in a gloved hand, pulling him close and driving his sword up under Shane's arm. If it were a sharper blade and Rick had tried to follow through, Shane would have lost his arm.

They paused for a moment and then nodded at each other, pulling away. Rick wiped the sweat from his brow, breathing heavily.

"Alright, Grimes. Stand down. Walsh, start up with West over there." Shane nodded and headed over to where Gareth was standing on the edge of the semi-circle of onlookers. Gareth was a thin man but he was fast and his weapon was choice was daggers. He'd be a good sparring companion for a man who needed to speed up or risk losing his life.

Rick straightened and made his way to the semi-circle, but stopped at a gesture from Commander Gregory, who waved him over. Rick obeyed and came to a halt at attention in front of the Commander. "Your father trained your well," Gregory said.

"Thank you, Commander," Rick replied with a nod, still trying to catch his breath.

"At dusk I want you to report to Commander Horvath," Gregory said. Rick blinked, frowning in confusion. Commander Horvath was in charge of another division of knights in the same encampment, but his knights trained at night. They were the black legion and served the Kingdom farther in the North where the nights stretched out much longer in the winter. Rick had heard stories, that sometimes for days the sun never rose in the peak of winter and the night was a continuous cloak of black before spring dawned. It could drive men mad, he'd heard.

He nodded in understanding. "Understood, Commander."

"Good. Go get some rest so that you are awake enough when the time comes. I expect you'll do me proud, Grimes."

"Thank you, Sir," Rick replied with another nod. He returned his training sword to the rack and walked to where the tents and barracks were. Lower-born knights slept in tents six-men large, and Commanders had their own tents in the middle of the encampment, but those in the middle slept in cabins that leaked and provided little shelter from the cold when night fell.

He went to his barracks and found it empty except for Lori. She looked up when he entered and shed his chainmail vest, sitting down with a heavy sigh, and took off his gloves and boots.

"You're back early," she said. She was wearing a heavier dress to protect herself from the wind, but it was still a fine piece of clothing and she had Shane's blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl. She had parchments in her hand and set them down on the floor so that she could sit up more fully and regard Rick.

"Commander Gregory asked me to report to the Night Commander at dusk," Rick explained. "He told me to rest so that I would be alert for nightfall."

Lori's eyes widened for a bit, before she nodded. Rick shed his tunic as well and folded it neatly on top of his vest, setting his sweaty clothes to one side and leaving him clad in only his leggings. He sighed and pulled his blanket back, laying down underneath it and wrapping it around his waist. The air was chill but he was warm from training and was enjoying the cool air.

"May I lay down with you?" she asked after a moment. "It's freezing in here."

Rick looked at her. "Will Shane kill me?" he asked, only half-joking.

She grinned. "He knows you prefer the company of men," she said with a shrug, before she seemed to consider her words. "You do… _only_ like the company of men, don't you?"

Rick shrugged, biting his lip. "Truthfully I'm not even sure it's men in general. Just him."

"Then he won't mind," Lori said, standing. "And he told you to protect me. Much easier to do in the same bed."

Rick smiled, too tired to argue much else. Lori grabbed her blanket and wrapped it around her body and left her bed, sliding into place beside Rick on his, her back to the wall. She rested her head on his arm and sighed, closing her eyes.

"Sorry for the smell," Rick said, sure he smelled less than ideal after a hard day of training. The men here didn't shower – some of them went to the sea at night to clean off but it was too cold to do that regularly. At most they washed their faces and hands before eating or going to bed, but some of them slept in their armor and training clothes so the scent of sweat was heavy in the air.

Lori giggled. "I've had worse," she replied, opening her eyes to grin up at Rick. Rick smiled back at her, reminded of how Daryl laid with him the night before he left. He lifted a hand to pet through her hair in an instinctive move and she sighed again. "This man must be very dear to you."

"He's my best friend," Rick replied with a nod, resting his head back against his thin pillow.

She hummed. "Will you tell me about him?"

Rick sighed. "He's a scholar," he said. "He's second-born, so he's not meant for the draft or anything like that. He liked to hunt, though – sometimes he'd go into the woods by our estates and disappear for days and come back with a deer or some rabbits, whatever he could catch."

"A scholar _and_ a wildling," Lori said with a laugh.

"His father never approved, but they couldn't stop him when he was younger." Rick sighed again. "Now he's older and he's in a cage. Just like the monsters here. I hate that."

"We're all trapped by our circumstances," Lori said. "Shane didn't want to be a soldier, but he's the only son of his house. If he wasn't so damn proud I'd have put money on him deliberately failing so that we could go home. But he's not like that. Never has been."

"He's a good man," Rick agreed. Over the months he'd been here Shane had proven to be a faithful friend and a quick learner. Rick was sure that had he been placed in a cabin with anyone else he would be much more miserable than he was.

Lori smiled. "That he is."

"How did you two meet?"

Her smile widened. "I was living in a whorehouse in the Capital," she said. Rick's eyes widened and he lifted his head to look at her. "I didn't _work_ there," she added. "Children of the girls live there and their mothers take turns tending to them while they're too fat or bleeding to work. My mother is still there, she's one of the best. I have several half-siblings."

"Forgive me for assuming," Rick said. "You're very beautiful. I'm sure you would have done alright for yourself."

"Oh, I did," Lori said with a smile. "Then Shane visited with some of his merchant friends. He saw me and offered to buy me from the landlord. His father didn't approve, but more for the fact that he bought me rather than where he found me. The rest is history, as they say."

"So you're a slave," Rick said before he could think about it.

Lori shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose, that's an Eastern way to look at things, though," she said. "Shane told me I was free to leave whenever I wanted, but I suppose you could say it was love at first sight. I never wanted to leave and he has been faithful to me since the start."

"What's it like?" Rick asked. "To be with a man?"

Lori raised her head, one eyebrow raised. "Surely you know that part," she said.

"As the man," Rick replied with a nod. "Not the woman."

Lori giggled, rolling her eyes. "Men are so strange," she said. "I would see them come into the whorehouse. They like all kinds of things. Younger, older, men with beards, women with small breasts, boys who look like girls except for what's between their legs." She shook her head and laid back down. "Personally I don't think it matters. I think the person matters. What do _you_ think it's like?"

"Daryl seemed to like it," Rick said. "Being the woman."

"You shouldn't think about it like that," Lori replied. "He's a man. You're a man. You're _both_ men. How you choose to be together isn't who's playing the woman or not. If you wanted a woman you'd have a woman."

Rick laughed. "I suppose."

"But I'll humor you, and answer," Lori said. She fell silent for a moment. "There's a part of every person, man or woman, that's empty. Call it sentimentality or whatever you'd like, but it's true. And I believe that there's a person for everyone that can fill that empty spot just right. And Shane does that for me. When he's with me, when I can feel him inside of me, I feel like everything is just…perfect."

"I feel like that with Daryl," Rick said. He sighed, a strong surge of sadness hitting him in the chest. "I miss him terribly."

"I miss Shane the second you two leave in the morning to train," Lori confessed. "I miss him until he comes back every night. We've been together every night since he bought me. Even when I'm bleeding."

Rick blinked, surprised. "Are you not worried you'll get pregnant?" he asked.

Lori smiled, and Rick felt her put a hand to her stomach. "Worried? No," she said. "I long for the day when I bear him a child."

"How long have you been together?"

"Years."

"And you haven't had a child?" Rick shook his head. He had heard stories where one night and a woman can get pregnant. He wasn't sure how it worked in all honesty, but he was sure that laying with a man _every night_ for years would have resulted in several children at this point.

Lori shook her head and sighed. "One day," she said, and doesn't explain further. Rick didn't press, but squeezed her shoulders in a loose hug. "Get some rest, Rick."

Rick sighed, laying his head back down and letting her settle into a comfortable line at his side. His sweat was dry now and her body heat was providing some welcome relief from the chill air. He pulled his blanket up to cover his chest and closed his eyes.

 

 

He was roused by Shane coming into the cabin. He felt a moment of panic before he saw Shane smile and nod to Lori. She was fast asleep at Rick's side and Rick smiled, carefully extricating himself from her loose embrace. Lori stirred with a sleepy complaint.

"What time is it?" Rick asked, wiping his eyes and pulling on his tunic.

"Almost dusk," Shane replied. Lori stirred again, hearing his voice, and Shane smiled and hauled her upright so he could put her on his own bed. "Hey, sweetheart," he said, his voice soft and heavy with affection. He kissed her and she put her hands in his hair, spreading her legs so that he could kneel between them.

Rick put on the rest of his clothes and grabbed his totem from the inside of his boot where he'd placed it so he could sleep. He put it over his head and lifted his chainmail and tunic so the cool metal rested against his heart, before putting his boots on.

"See ya, brother," he said. Shane straightened and clapped him on the shoulder before returning to his bed. Rick left and made his way towards Commander Horvath's side of the encampment.

He spotted the man easily. He was dressed in similar armor to Commander Gregory but his armor was entirely black, his cloak silver and dappled like rock-marred snow. He had a kind face and a thick white beard cut short.

"Commander," Rick greeted, giving him a salute and coming to a stop in front of him. "Commander Gregory told me to report to you tonight."

Commander Horvath gave him a nod. "Right! Grimes. Excellent. Please, follow me," he said, and led Rick through the track of black tents towards an open area. "Tell me, how much do you know of night-beasts?"

Rick shook his head. "Less and more than I want to know, I imagine," he said, earning a laugh from the older man. "Vampires, demons, flesh-eaters…how to kill them."

"There's a lot of crossover between day-time monsters and night-beasts, unfortunately," Commander Horvath said. "That's your first lesson. Don't assume just because they hunt at night, that that's the only time you need to fear them."

Rick nodded. "Understood."

"Half a night's sail North from here is an island where we have a garrison. We take recruits there to train against night-beasts. My intention is to see how you fare up there."

Rick nodded again, knowing that this was an order, and he was going to be going whether he wanted to or not. There was a small ship docked on the shore, almost invisible as night started to fall except where torches illuminated the shiny black sides of the ship and the silver sails. It had a different sigil than the King's on it – a black eye surrounded by a ring of silver fire. The same as on Commander Horvath's armor.

Commander Horvath led him to the shore and introduced him to other Lieutenants and knights gathered there. There was Spencer Monroe, Eric Raleigh, and Aaron Marquand. The three of them greeted him politely and escorted him onto the ship with Commander Horvath.

"Alright, let's move out," Horvath said, and the crew jumped into action. Rick stayed on the deck, unsure what else to do. Spencer and Eric went below, leaving him and Aaron on the deck and staring out at the black cliffs, as the sun set and everything was plunged into darkness.

"Nervous?" Aaron asked. He was a handsome man, with bright eyes and dark, curly hair. He had black armor on much like Commander Horvath's but lighter, and wore no cloak despite the cold air blowing at them from the sea.

Rick shook his head. "Honestly? No," he said.

Aaron pressed his lips together and he gave Rick a once-over. "I'm not going to say that you should be, because honestly sometimes nervousness makes you stupid." Rick smiled. "But you don't look nervous."

"Should I be?"

"Nights get long," Aaron said. "I've seen a lot of good men lose their minds in the darkness."

"I know the name Marquand," Rick said. "My father may have served with yours in the war."

"Probably," Aaron said. "I haven't spoken to my father in years."

Rick blinked and looked at him.

Aaron shrugged. "I'm a second son. I didn't need to serve, but I wanted to. My father didn't approve, and he told me that if I left I wouldn't be welcome back. So I never went back. After a while the letters stopped coming. I think he might have died."

"I'm sorry," Rick said.

Aaron sighed and shook his head. "It was a long time ago. Stubborn old men make stupid mistakes. But I hope he's found peace wherever he is now."

"As do I," Rick replied.

Aaron nodded and turned his gaze back out to the sea.


	7. Chapter 7

The Night Keep rose up like the tooth of a long-dead beast, black and intimidating against the dark sky. Rick watched it with wise eyes as the ship approached. When they were docked on the beach he got out and marveled at the lack of sand there, instead finding cool, black and white stones beneath his feet. There was no grass on the island, and its sole purpose was to house the keep so he knew nothing grew there.

What light there was came in the form of white glows in the Keep. He reached a hand out to catch Aaron's attention as the other man stepped forward.

"What is that?" he asked, nodding to the lights. He was unused to them being that color, so different from the yellowy warmth of candlelight or that of the sun.

Aaron smiled. "When King Ezekiel built this place, he spoke to the Fey that were apparently close friends to the Kingdom in the Northern isles where he was born. They're tiny creatures and they give off a soft glow. He asked them if they would be willing to provide light to his men and they agreed. Each room has three or four of them living in there at any one time."

Rick's eyes widened. "That's amazing," he breathed. He had heard some stories from his mother of the wild, Pagan things that lived in the forest by his home but he had never heard of such creatures. "So they're friendly?"

Aaron nodded. "As friendly as anything like that can be, I suppose," he said. "They also keep watch and will rouse soldiers if there's ever an attack. In return we give them safe lodging and King Ezekiel promised that their home forests would be safe for his entire reign. When he dies, I suppose they'll have to ask the same contract of the new King, but I'm sure they will."

Rick nodded, and then turned as another soldier handed him a large bundle of practice swords and a shield. "Take these to the armory. Aaron will show you the way," he said. Rick remembered his name was Eric.

Aaron nodded and led Rick up the small hill towards the Keep. There was a single pathway made of stone with waist-high walls where men could station themselves. As he approached, Rick became aware of the sounds of snarls and low growls. He shivered, looking over the wall. There was a gate he saw there that led straight out into the ocean and into which he could see the boat gently sailing. The gate opened, illuminated by the white light of the fairies, and closed behind it.

"What kind of monsters are here?" he asked. Most of them, he knew, were intelligent – otherwise they wouldn't have to train men to fight them or they would be hunted like boar or deer. They could speak, most of them in languages all their own, and strategize. At the encampment he had seen cages with creatures that were less intelligent and meant for fighting against, to train.

"Night-beasts, mostly," Aaron said with a shrug. "There is a trio of vampires that have agreed to train with us. They're decent people until the hunger sets in, and have sworn off human blood. I think Commander Horvath said something about a werewolf, as well – a man who turns into a beast at night when the moon is full."

"Incredible," Rick murmured, and then fell silent as Aaron led him into the Keep. He could see the white fairy lights everywhere. One of them zipped towards him and came to a stop in front of his face, forcing Rick to halt. It looked like a tiny woman, skin black and eyes and wings glowing brightly as she fluttered in front of his face.

She grinned at him, showing tiny, sharp teeth. "Hello," she said with a wave, and Rick smiled and waved back. "What is your name?"

Rick's eyes flashed to Aaron and he gave a nod of encouragement. "Rick Grimes," he said.

"Rick Grimes," she repeated, and Rick heard a chorus of the other lights repeat his name. She flitted away and disappeared from sight around a corner.

"When they know your name, they know who to protect," Aaron explained as they kept walking. "They have this…connection to each other, I guess you'd call it. Anywhere you go where there's a fairy, you tell them your name and they'll know you're a friend." He paused for a second. "They'll know if you're an enemy, too, so don't offend them."

Rick nodded and another fairy flitted in front of him, as though passing by, before it stopped. It looked vaguely male, and was larger than the first. He turned bright eyes towards Rick and then they narrowed.

"Rick Grimes," he said, and then darted towards Rick's chest. Rick froze, not wanting to inadvertently swat at or hurt the creature even though his arms were full. He felt a tug at the totem on his neck and the fairy came back into view. "Rick Grimes. Who is your mother?"

"Deanna," Rick said.

The fairy nodded, eyes wide. "Deanna," he said again, as though recognizing the name. "Rick Grimes, son of Deanna. Welcome."

Then he flew away. Aaron's eyes were wide. "I've never seen them do that before," he said, before his gaze fell to the totem on Rick's neck that the fairy had pulled free. "What is that?"

Rick bit his lip and looked down. "My father gave it to me," he explained. "It was my mother's. He said it held special water from a deep, hidden lake that could cure any illness or wound."

"That's a good thing to have," Aaron said with a nod. "Keep it close."

Aaron led him to the armory, which was easily one of the biggest Rick had ever seen. It was bigger than Abraham's smith shop, or the armory his father kept in their estate. It held weapons the like of which Rick had never seen before, including one giant bow that was far too big for any normal man to carry. He placed the swords on their rack neatly and set the shield down beside it, sure that there would be more to come from the ship.

"Aaron, Rick, come this way, please," Commander Horvath told them as they exited the armory. Rick followed along behind on the man's right, Aaron on his left. "Aaron, please tell Spencer and Eric to meet me below."

"Yes, Commander," Aaron said, and took his leave of them.

Rick followed Commander Horvath as he led the way through a large, heavy iron door. The air inside of the Keep was almost unbearably cold when compared to the heat of the encampment by the sea and Rick shivered, making a mental note to send for heavier clothes when he got the chance. He followed Commander Horvath down and they came to a stop in front of another door. This one had three padlocks and heavy chains sweeping across it, embedded on either side, deeply into the stone. "This is where we keep the creatures," he explained, gesturing to the door. No fairies were illuminating the way – there was a single torch that burned and lit the air. Rick also noticed there was a ring of iron set into the stone around the door.

"I'll be straight to the point with you, Rick," he said, turning to face Rick. "Commander Gregory told me you showed extreme promise with weapons. The Night Keep is more than just proficiency with a sword or a bow. We deal with some of the darkest things our Lord has to offer, and the nights get very long. It can drive a man insane when he doesn't see the sun for too long."

"I understand," Rick said after a quiet moment.

Commander Horvath smiled. "You will," he said. "Tell me. How do you kill a werewolf?"

Rick blinked. "When he's a man, he can die like any other man. When he's a beast, a silver dagger to the heart works best."

The other man nodded, looking pleased. "A vampire?"

"Behead it, burn the body, and drive a stake through the head."

"A gorgon?"

"Don't look at it. Make it look at itself. Smash the status."

Commander Horvath nodded, apparently satisfied. "If you were with your squadron and one of them was bitten by a night-walker, what would you do?"

"Kill him," Rick said. Commander Horvath blinked at him. "There's no cure. He'll get sick, and risk everyone else getting infected. I would kill him and burn the body."

"Even if this man was your best friend? Your brother? Your family?"

Rick hesitated, thinking of Daryl. He pressed his lips together and looked away.

" _That_ ," Commander Horvath said, pointing towards him, "is the reason you're here. The Night Keep can't afford favoritism, cannot afford personal attachment. I'm told you have no wife or children, is that correct?"

Rick nodded.

"You'd do best to keep it that way, if you are to survive here," he finished. Then, Aaron, Eric, and Spencer joined them in front of the door. "Alright, good. Let's begin."

 

 

_Lord Grimes,_

_I want to thank you for your kind words. I confess that life here is so drastically different from that of my family and I owe you all of my love and loyalty for reaching out to me in friendship. You are right – Daryl is secretive and stoic. I find myself wondering often if there is something I can do to help him when he is so obviously suffering in your absence. It settles my heart to know that he has always been like this._

_Ruffian is lovely. Your offer is so kind, I thank you for your gift and pray that you may return safely to see her when she is ready._

_I might ask this one favor of you: please, do your best to return home whole and happy. Daryl is worried sick for you and I know your family misses you dearly. Although we did not know each other long or speak much, I know you are a good man and a righteous one to have such loyal and ardent love that I have seen here._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Lady Beth Greene._

The letter from Daryl was written in the draconian language. It took Rick almost a week to decipher it with any certainty;

                _Rick,_

_I miss you. So much. I can barely sleep because all I can remember is the night you visited me. Whenever I think about it I find myself aching as though someone has stabbed me through the heart. I know I should try to move on and find happiness with my life here but I can't. You're gone and I feel as though I am gone with you, like there's something missing without you by my side._

_I can't go through with this wedding. I know that. I just need to figure out how to explain it to my father, and to Beth's. I'm sure my words will fall on deaf ears, but I know I can't promise myself to another when I have always been yours. I will always be yours. There is no draconian word for love and I dare not write it here. Not love – instead they say 'treasure'. I treasure you. I always will._

_Yours,_

_Daryl._

 

The night stretched on in the Keep. The lights of the fairies glowed eternally, creating a soft and ethereal atmosphere in the Keep. Rick imagined this might be what the afterlife was like, cold and silent with only the little lights of God's love keeping the way clear.

Rick had no way to keep track of the time passing. A claxon horn roused him from sleep every 'morning', and he trained until he could barely walk and his arms hurt from wielding weapons and his eyes grew heavy from study. When it got particularly bad Rick would go to the door of the training room and watch the torch fire and remember the warmth of the sun.

He kept the letters from Daryl, his family, and Beth close to his heart and took them out whenever he could. One of the fairies had introduced herself as Sasha and sat on his shoulder so that he could read them. She was fluent in many languages and helped him practice his draconian, his wolf-speak, and the butchered, guttural tongue of manticores and chimeras. She gave him riddles to practice when he was too tired to read.

Aaron and Eric shared a room with him. There were only two beds, but when Rick suggested a rotation of sleeping on the floor, sure that he had stolen one of their beds from them, the two had grinned at him in this knowing way and said they didn't mind sharing. Rick suspected, but he dared not ask the question out loud.

Rick almost wept for joy when he saw the dim, promising glow of the sun tinting the horizon and turning the sky pink and orange. He stood out on the battlements and watched as the light roved around the horizon edge before dipping back down.

"Spring is here," Aaron said, and Rick frowned and wondered how that could possibly be.

"Doesn't it snow here?" he asked. "It got cold enough."

Aaron shook his head. "The salt and the wind keep it from snowing," he said. "The only way to tell the seasons is from the sun."

Rick shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. His face itched from a beard that had started to grow, and he had not had enough confidence in the fairy light to risk shaving. Soon he would be able to, though, and the promise of that filled him with ridiculous happiness.

"It's almost spring," he murmured to himself. That meant Daryl would soon be wed. He had told Rick he didn't want to, although that much had always been obvious, but no more letters had come detailed any dissolution of the arranged marriage. Beth had stopped writing to him as well – either she had no more need for him, or someone was stopping him receiving their correspondences. Rick could not imagine Daryl would just _stop_ writing to him, but his heart was heavy with the possibility. Perhaps, despite all odds, he had fallen in love with Beth and was now happy about the promised union.

Rick couldn't let himself think that, but it was a possibility. As sweet and lovely a girl as Beth was, maybe Daryl had decided it would be best for them both to open his heart and allow her a place there. After all, Rick's chair was empty and would be for God knew how long.

When the time came when the sun started to actually make appearances beyond the tip of the sea, a ship came with supplies and weapons for them. Rick went down with Commander Horvath and Spencer to greet the crew and help them unload.

Commander Gregory was there and the two men went off to one side to speak. Rick, Sasha on his shoulder, took the additional weapons to the armory and placed the food stores in the cellars. It was a nice thought that they'd be able to have some bread and fresh food for a while, instead of the normal rations of salted meat and dried fruit.

"Rick," Commander Horvath said when he emerged from the cellars, and Rick approached him and gave him a salute. "Commander Gregory is going to be taking you back to the encampment."

Rick frowned, unsure what that might mean. "Have I failed you, Commander?" he asked.

"Quite the contrary, my boy," Commander Horvath said with a kind smile. "You have done well here for your first winter. But this was never where we intended to keep you. Pack your things, you're leaving when they set sail in a half-hour."

"Yes, Commander," Rick said, and went to his room. Aaron and Eric were there; the claxon hadn't sounded yet to tell them it was time to train, and they trained at night most of the time anyway. The men were curled up together and roused sleepily when Rick entered.

"I'm leaving," he told them, packing his things.

Eric let out a sad, tired sound. "Safe travels," he said.

Aaron nodded.

"You'll have your bed back, at least," Rick said with a smile.

Aaron grinned. "Thank you," he said, but his arm tightened around Eric's shoulders in a way that was unmistakable. Rick froze, his eyes wide as he looked at the two of them, and then he sat down.

"May I ask you something?" he said.

Aaron nodded again.

"How long have you two…?"

Eric laughed. "You owe me five gold," he said.

Rick frowned.

"We had a bet on if you would ever ask," Aaron explained with a roll of his eyes. "I thought you might just not have noticed, or kept it to yourself."

"My best friend is a man," Rick said, rubbing his hands across his beard. He would soon go back to sunlight and be able to shave it off. "And I love him. With everything I have. The more time I spend away from home the more I'm starting to think that the way of life there is not the only one."

Aaron sighed. "Well, there was more than one reason why my father won't speak to me," he confessed. "He knew about Eric. He knew that I left…because of him."

Rick blinked, and he heard Sasha's tiny giggle on his shoulder. He held out his hand for her and she stepped off of his shoulder daintily, grinning at him. "I suppose this is goodbye," he said to her, surprised by how sad the thought made him.

She smiled and placed her small hand on his nose, shaking her head. "Not forever," she said, and then her wings fluttered and she took to the air, flitting out of the open window. Rick sighed and stood, grabbing his things.

"I wish you both the best of luck, and all the health and happiness in the world."

"Thank you, Rick," Aaron said. "Safe travels."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter and kiiiiiiiiiiiiind of a cliffhanger. forgive me!

Rick returned with Commander Gregory on the ship headed south to the encampment by the sea once more. When he returned, he quickly was thrown back into a tight regimen of training with sword and bow. The sun stayed up for much longer down in the south and it was a comforting thing, to feel the sun on his face and hear birds singing when he woke to start training. No more letters came. When he asked Shane, Shane told him that they hadn't received any word from their families. No one had. If Shane shared the same worry as Rick did, he didn't voice it.

 

 

 

"Commander, do you have a moment?"

Commander Gregory stopped where he had been passing by in front of the mess hall tent. Rick stood and approached him when the man nodded and they both walked a short distance away so as not to be overheard by the rest of the soldiers.

"Yes, Rick. What is it?"

"I was wondering if I might ask for a few days of leave. My best friend is getting married and I promised him I'd try to make it to the wedding."

Commander Gregory regarded him for a moment, before he pressed his lips together. "I will see if I can spare you, but I'm not sure we can allow that."

Rick nodded, sighing inwardly. "I understand. Thank you for considering it."

"I'll let you know by the morning," Commander Gregory promised, before he turned and kept walking towards his tent. Rick returned to the food tent and took his place by Shane once more, across from Bob and Gareth.

"So what was the Night Keep like?" Shane asked, practically buzzing with curiosity when Rick settled down. Rick regarded his ration of dried fruit and bread, suddenly no longer hungry. He pushed it to one side as an offering to the other three. Gareth seized it immediately, digging in. The man was always hungry.

"Cold," Rick replied. "Dark, for the most part. There were fey there, and they lit the lodgings and the halls. It was kind of beautiful."

"I've never seen a fairy," Bob said with wide eyes. "What do they look like?"

"Like tiny men, really. But they have black eyes and very sharp teeth. And the wings, of course."

Shane nodded, looking awed. "You'd think after all we've seen, the thought of tiny glowing men wouldn't shock me, but it does," he said with a smile, which Rick returned. "It's good to have you back, man. You've been missed."

"Thank you," Rick replied. "I missed you all dearly as well. Has there been any word from the Capitol?"

"Nothing," Bob said, looking sullen. He had a wife who was going to give birth while he was away. "I asked one of the knights and he told me that there's been rumors of an uprising in the plains, across the sea and to the east. Nothing substantial, but they're thinking about sending some men out to take care of it."

"An uprising?" Rick repeated, straightening. "Of what?"

"The nomads have sent reports to the King that say there's a great beast who has taken over the plains. Bigger than a dragon, and its fire is more like poison air and kills whatever it touches. It's been killing their livestock and ruining the plains, so they've started raiding settlements nearby."

Rick frowned. "So would these men be taking care of the nomads, or killing the beast?"

Gareth let out a quiet, rough laugh. "What do you think?"

Rick shook his head. "But that can't be right. Surely the King would think it better to kill the cause, not take care of the result."

Gareth rolled his eyes, as though offended that Rick would think that way. "Still," Bob supplied, "if our King commands it, we must do what must be done."

Rick nodded. After dinner he, Shane and Bob returned to their lodgings. Lori was there and she greeted Rick with a warm smile and a hug, and Rick's grin got wide when he felt her rounded belly press against his stomach. While he was away, apparently Shane had finally managed to get her pregnant. She wore expected motherhood with grace, her slender frame accepting the life growing inside of it eagerly.

"I'm so happy you're back," she told him, hugging him again and kissing his cheek before Shane scooped her up and placed her down on his bed. She giggled and plastered herself along his side and Rick sat down, taking off his tunic and necklace and placing the necklace in one of his boots.

He laid down and tried not to worry about his family and about Daryl. If his letters were being held, then Rick was promised no correspondence from them any time soon. He wondered what they might be writing – if they, too, were worried for his lack of response. Rick hadn't managed to send any letters out during his stay in the Night Keep. The couriers rarely came and when they did they hardly had time to greet the foot soldiers before being sent on their way again, and they always came in the middle of the day when the soldiers were sleeping, so getting a letter out was nearly impossible.

He sighed, and hoped that Daryl wasn't worried for him. If he might take Rick's silence as his indifference – or, worse still, think something might have happened to Rick. He wondered how long it would take before Daryl thought him dead, or thought that he might have found a pretty man or woman to lay with instead and had forgotten Daryl completely.

How Daryl might think that, Rick couldn't begin to say, but Daryl was a cynic and a pragmatist. He overanalyzed everything and usually his assumption was one of the worst possible recourses. Maybe he would think that Rick had moved on and had decided to marry Beth anyway, and when Rick returned home he would find Daryl wed and with a child on the way.

He closed his eyes and tried not to think about it. Across from him, he could hear the quiet, wet sounds of Shane and Lori kissing, and the rustle of bedsheets as they moved into a position where they could make love. Rick had become used to the these sounds before he went to the Night Keep, but if Aaron and Eric had done the same, they had waited until Rick was asleep before doing it.

They were strangely comforting. He bit his lip and rolled over when he heard Lori's high-pitched, soft cry of satisfaction as Shane slid inside of her. Shane growled lowly, like a hunting wolf, and Rick heard them kissing again, their breathing heavy. He heard as Lori's pleasure climbed, sweet noises filling the quiet air with each of Shane's movements. It reminded him of Daryl, the noises he'd made when he moved so nicely under Rick, body gracious and eager under Rick's hands and around his cock. It was strange – it seemed that no matter who it was, people made the same sounds at that first push inside. Perhaps it was just the satisfaction of being penetrate, of holding a man inside of oneself for those brief, frantic moments. Rick wondered if he would make the same sound, when he returned to Daryl's side.

As much as he liked Beth and wanted happiness for her, Rick knew he was neither good nor strong enough to resist Daryl when he returned. His pride was not so unbending that he would not consent to be the man's mistress – or whatever the word was for the male version – even if Daryl managed to open his desire enough to give Beth a child.

He would be with Daryl, and take that special part of the man that Rick had claimed for himself. Rick would give his in return. They would be happy, or at least as happy as two men could be when they loved each other so much but were unable to declare it to the word and swear their love and loyalty to each other before God and men.

The sound of Shane's grunting roused him from his thoughts, and he clenched his eyes shut when the rustling abruptly stopped, and he heard Shane growl again and kiss Lori passionately, their wet kisses loud compared to the other noises they'd made. He closed his eyes when he heard Shane settle into place beside his lover.

Rick didn't sleep. His memories and his thoughts kept him up well into the dawn.

 

 

 

"Rick, a word."

Rick nodded and walked over to Commander Gregory, coming to a stop with a greeting salute. The man's face was apologetic and stoic and Rick knew what he was about to say.

"We've been summoned across the see to deal with the nomad raids. I'm afraid we can spare no one, so I have to deny your request for leave."

"I understand," Rick said. After all, to serve the Crown was why he was here in the first place. "May I at least write a letter, for myself and the other soldiers here? They deserve to write to their families, to assure them they're safe and that they will be leaving the country."

Commander Gregory was already shaking his head. "We are to be moving to the ships within the hour, Rick. I'm afraid there's simply no time."

Rick nodded, pressing his lips together. "Thank you. I'll inform my cabin and report to the shores."

Commander Gregory nodded, before he turned away to give the order elsewhere. The man did seem genuinely sorry. Perhaps he remembered what it was like to be fresh-faced and young, aching for the few letters from home whenever they arrived.

He went back to his cabin to find Shane and Lori packing. Bob and his things were both gone. Perhaps he'd already been given the order.

"Get the news?" Shane asked in greeting, handing Lori a folded shirt that she placed in their trunk. Half of her things were on one side, Shane's pile growing on the other. Rick nodded and pulled out his own chest to start packing. He had few possessions – it was his weapons that would take the most room. "Gotta say, I'm kinda glad we'll be on the move again."

Lori laughed. "Shane hates anchors," she said with a grin. Rick smiled back at her.

"The whole wide world is callin' my name and I've been stuck on this Godforsaken cliff for almost a year. Cut me some slack, woman."

Lori giggled again, taking another one of Shane's shirts and packing it. Rick shook his head, smiling fondly, and knelt down to close and lock his chest when it was full. He pulled on a thicker tunic over the first one, knowing all too well how bracing and cold a voyage could be, and turned to regard them.

"I'll go figure out who the Hell we give this to," Shane said with a nod, running his hand over his face. He bent down to give Lori a swift kiss, before he waved at Rick and left the cabin.

Lori was practically bouncing. "I've missed the ships," she said, sitting down daintily on Shane's bed. Rick saw a large white stain in the middle of it and blushed, looking back to her. He can't remember leaving such a mark on Daryl's bed – but then again, there must have been something. He wondered what he told the servants who cleaned it. If he even mentioned it.

"Can't say they're my favorite mode of travel," he said, sitting down on his own bed. He figured there was nothing else to do except wait for Shane to come back with instructions.

Lori arched an eyebrow. "Oh, right. You townfolk prefer your feet, don’t you?"

Rick laughed. "As though you get carried from place to place."

"I would, if I could find enough strong, handsome young men to do it," she said with a playful smile.

Rick grinned. "I hardly think you'd have trouble with that."

"Flatterer," Lori said. "But tell me, then – what do you prefer?"

"Well, there's nothing wrong with a good walk, but mostly I miss my horse," he said. "I raised one of her foals, and she has always been mine. She was good to me."

"The only woman you'll ever love."

Rick laughed. "That's not true," he said, shaking his head, "I love my mother."

"Mothers are more like Goddesses."

"And horses more like women?"

"Oh! You're in a good mood," Lori said, leaning forward and grinning at him.

The way she sat pushed out her breasts, which Rick could see had grown larger with her pregnancy. It wasn't a fact he noticed out of lust. "You take to motherhood well," he said, raising his eyes to meet hers again.

She smiled, sitting back and placing a hand on her stomach. "I'm so happy it finally happened," she said, her voice thick. "I was starting to think…" She stopped herself and shook her head. "I'm just happy."

"It's infectious."

"Oh, so that's your excuse? You're not just as geared up for a fight as Shane is?"

"I'm not relishing the thought of fighting people who are just trying to survive," he said, thinking of the many monsters he had spoken to and seen in the Night Keep. The vampires had been, true to their word, purely there to help train prospective knights. They had sworn off human blood and were instead given a ration of pig's blood. Rick had found them to be pleasant, welcoming people, with enough wisdom between them to rival Solomon. Rick had learned many things from them. "I know what the beast is."

Lori blinked at him.

"It's, well, it basically translates to _Draco Noxia_. Gas dragon. It's not a good translation." Rick shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "And it's not exactly like a dragon. It doesn't fly, it burrows. And it can go so deep that man couldn't hope to find it. And it breathes a type of air that makes it impossible to breathe."

"How do you _know_ this?" Lori asked.

"When I was in the Night Keep, I met some very old creatures who had sword fealty to the Crown. They told me of all kinds of beasts, even ones that no one had seen for thousands of years. I remember this one. The way they'd described it…made it seem so horrible. I remembered."

"You must tell the Commander," Lori urged.

"I will," Rick said, nodding. "I know how to kill it, too."

"Do you think he'll let you?" Her voice came out in a whisper.

Rick shook his head. "Probably not," he replied. "But I have to try."

Shane entered the cabin at that moment and Rick stood. He grinned at the both of them. "Alright, let's load up and get the Hell outta here."

 

 

 

_Lord Daryl Dixon,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I hope this letter finds you at all. There has been a hold on all letters to and from the encampments. I am writing this letter on the fourth day past the summer solstice, and I hope this letter reaches you soon after._

_My name is Shane Walsh, son of Jason Walsh. I come from a family of silk merchants, and during my stay, Rick and I became good friends. He told me about you. My wife and I had been trying to provide companionship to him but I could see how badly he misses you._

_I want you to know that your friendship with Rick will be kept secret, by myself and my wife. We do not just things like that. Please do not read this letter and think that I mean you or Rick harm. Rick was a dear friend to me._

_We were drafted to sail East in the early days of April. Rick was in the same battalion as me, and we were sent to deal with some skirmishes that had been happening between the nomads and the settlements there. During our journey, Rick told me that he knew what was causing the nomads to be driven out of their territories. He said you would know what it was, but I don't remember the draconian name he used. He said it was like a dragon that could breathe Sulphur._

_We informed our Commander, but he forbade us go._

_Rick went anyway._

_I accompanied him as far as he would let me. He would not allow me to face the monster with him. For that I am almost glad, forgive me. But Rick saved my life. Had I gone with him, I might have faced the same fate._

_I stayed where he left me for three days, and then I went looking for him. I found him barely alive. He was coughing up blood and hardly coherent, and I found him dying of thirst right beside the body of the beast. I cannot describe it to you – I scarcely believe it myself._

_Rick is still alive, but barely. The beast's breath has rendered it almost impossible for him to breathe on his own. The medics are doing what they can, but every moment that passes, I fear might be his last._

_I write this to you not to worry you or cause you grief. Rick is strong, I haven't known him long but I know that. And I know he's fighting to be with you. Please, pray to whichever God best suits you. I know they must hear._

_Rick saved my life, and for that I have pledged a family debt to him. I extend that to you as well. Whatever you ask of me, I will do whatever is within my power to obey._

_Faithful in friendship,_

_Shane Walsh._

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey remember when I regularly updated things? Hahah wild am I right?

Shane lifted his head as the flaps to the tent opened, allowing Lori inside. There was a medic in the tent with him and the man stood with a nod to Shane and Lori before taking his leave. Commander Gregory followed in behind.

"How is he?" Lori asked, coming forward and putting a hand on Shane's shoulder. Shane sighed and looked back down at the bed he was sitting next to.

"No change," he replied, taking Lori's hand and kissing her knuckles. He heard Lori let out a quiet, pained sound, holding her stomach with her other hand.

Rick was pale and unmoving, the only thing giving him away as being alive were the small, rattling breaths his body took every now and again. He wasn't breathing right – it was like he was in danger of suffocating at every moment before his body's natural desire to live kicked in and he'd heave a harsh, unsteady breath.

"You both shouldn't have gone out there," Commander Gregory said, his eyes stern when Shane looked up at him.

"He killed it," Shane replied.

The heat was sweltering in the desert. Even Lori's clothes, which were sheer and light, were sometimes too heavy and would make her sweat. The rest of the men who had come with them often complained about the long, blistering days and then the nights that were so cold most of them spent them huddled together for warmth.

On nights like that, Shane and Lori stayed in the tent here, with Rick, so that he didn't freeze.

"That you did," Commander Gregory said with a nod of concession. "The courier told me you sent a letter to his family."

Shane nodded. "Any word back?" he asked, and Commander Gregory shook his head. Shane blew out a hard, angry breath, putting his hand over his face. "Is there _nothing_ we can do for him?"

"I sent word to Commander Horvath. After you told me Rick had learned about this thing from the night beasts, I figured they might have an answer. They don't. Apparently it's unheard of for a man to survive the dragon's breath."

"Rick has to pull through," Lori whispered, her eyes wide. "He _has_ to."

"At this point, I'm not sure," Commander Gregory said, his voice gentle but his expression still hard. "Might be more of a mercy to let him pass."

Shane growled. "I ain't gonna give up on him like that."

"Suit yourself," Commander Gregory said, before he turned to leave. "I'm sure word from the crown will come soon, commanding we go home. Maybe he'll make the voyage, maybe he won't. I'd hate to send a shell back to his mother."

Shane's hand tightened around Lori's and he forced himself not to say anything as Commander Gregory took his leave. His eyes were still on Rick. Rick's expression didn't change, his body didn't move. His lips were purple from lack of air, he looked sunken and thin.

Lori sat next to him and put her cheek on his shoulder. "He'll make it," she said, quietly but with certainty.

Shane shook his head. "I don't know how," he confessed. "I won't give up on him, but this is…this is beyond me. Beyond any of us."

"Perhaps we should pray, then," Lori said.

"To which God?"

"Whichever best suits, I suppose," Lori replied. "Just like you told his friend to do."

"God, I shouldn't have sent that letter," Shane murmured. "I can't imagine if…if I got news like that. What I'd do."

"You did what you thought was best."

"C'mon, Rick. You gotta wake up, brother." Shane leaned forward, letting go of Lori's hand and placing it on Rick's arm, squeezing tight. "You're too stubborn to let a little dirt muncher take you out, huh?"

Rick's chest heaved as he took in another unsteady gulp of air. His head rolled to one side. It was the most life Shane had seen from him since he'd found him and hauled him back to the camp. Shane pressed his lips together and squeezed Rick's arm again.

 

 

_I hope this letter finds you at all._

Daryl's fingers shook as he read the letter, holding it so tightly that the edges crumbled under his grip. Beside him, Beth was watching with worried eyes. Daryl had read the letter over and over, more times than he could count. The beginning of it settled him – Rick hadn't forgotten him. There had been a hold on the letters. That explained why he hadn't written back. He probably hadn't gotten any of Daryl's letters either. Rick hadn't forgotten him.

But he was…

"There must be _something_ we can do," Daryl whispered, more to himself than for Beth to hear. Their wedding was just around the corner and Daryl hadn't had the stomach to talk to their fathers. He had been strong when he'd written that first letter, but then the days had dragged into weeks and then months with no word from Rick…

_During our journey, Rick told me that he knew what was causing the nomads to be driven out of their territories. He said you would know what it was, but I don't remember the draconian name he used. He said it was like a dragon that could breathe Sulphur._

_We informed our Commander, but he forbade us go._

_Rick went anyway._

"Stupid son of a bitch."

_I accompanied him as far as he would let me. He would not allow me to face the monster with him. For that I am almost glad, forgive me. But Rick saved my life. Had I gone with him, I might have faced the same fate._

The same fate. And what fate was that? Shane's letter had told him Rick was still alive – he _had_ to be alive, he _had_ to be – but that was where it ended. And who knew when Daryl might receive another? What if, when he did, it was to tell him that Rick had finally passed?

_Rick is strong, I haven't known him long but I know that. And I know he's fighting to be with you._

Daryl crumpled the letter up, tears in his eyes, and threw it on the fire. Beth knew the contents – at least, she knew most of it. Daryl hadn't been able to hide his grief when he'd first received it. He had come to learn that Beth was stubborn, almost as stubborn as he was, and would not hear the end of it until Daryl had confessed to her Rick's fate.

He knew Rick had garnered her favor, and she thought of him as a friend. But she wasn't tied to Rick like Daryl was. Did Rick's family even know what happened?

"I'm going for a ride," Daryl said, shoving himself to his feet. Beth stood as well out of respect, but made no move to follow.

"Please, be safe," she said, reaching out and laying a light touch on his arm. Daryl nodded, his throat too thick with grief to speak, and he fled the comfortable innards of his house and went to the stables. There was a new stall open for when Ruffian joined them, but for now it was still full of his father's mighty stallions.

"Saddle a horse for me," he ordered one of the servants, who nodded and hurried to obey. Daryl felt like he could barely see, the tears in his eyes were making it difficult, but he forced himself not to let them fall. What a sight he would make, Lord Dixon sobbing like a child in the stables over the news of his friend's fate.

The servant brought over one of the horses, tacked and ready, and Daryl walked with it to the mounting block and swung his leg over the saddle. He kicked the horse forward before he was even fully settled, wanting nothing more than to _leave_.

He heard Merle calling his name but paid him no mind, as the horse leapt into a canter and he fled the grounds of his father's house.

 

 

Shane and Lori leapt to their feet as the tent opened, revealing Commander Gregory and the medic as both men hurried inside.

"Stand back," Commander Gregory ordered and Shane obeyed, eyes wide as the medic went to Rick and lifted him upright. "Commander Horvath wrote to me. He said one of his men had spoken with Rick and -."

"Here!" the medic said, carefully pulling Rick's totem from his neck. The chain came loose with a light snap and he laid Rick back down and opened it. Shane's eyes went wide and he crept forward, watching as the man opened the necklace to reveal a small gem-like pearl, bright blue and almost glowing.

"What is that?" he asked.

"At this point, our only hope," the medic said. "The fairies vouched for it. Help me lift him."

Shane nodded and pulled Rick to a sitting position, bearing his weight easily. The medic held Rick's jaw and forced it open, before he crushed the pearl, garnering a small amount of moisture. He pushed his wet fingers into Rick's mouth and then tilted his head back, stroking his throat to make him swallow.

Then he let Rick lay back down. Rick didn't move or react, his head fallen to one side and his breathing still as shaky as ever. Shane wasn't sure what he expected. "What was that?" he asked.

"Commander Horvath told me one of his men spoke to Rick, and Rick told him that totem held a small drop of water from a Pagan lake. It's said to cure any ailment and heal any wound."

Lori's eyes went wide. "So it could cure him?"

"I don't know. I don't really believe in that kind of magic. But the fairies said it was true, that if it was really water from the lake, it would cure him."

"Oh, thank God," Lori said, her eyes bright with tears as she put a hand to her mouth, the other on Shane's shoulder and squeezing tightly. "Shane…"

"Don't think it's God you should be thanking," the medic said, standing and wiping his hands on his tunic. "We can't be sure of anything. Either it'll work or it won't. I'd advise to keep a close watch on him."

"I will," Lori said.

"I'll pray for him," the medic said, before he and the Commander left. Despite everything, Rick had become kind of a hero to the other soldiers. Now they didn't have to risk their lives fighting the savage nomads, nor did they have to worry about the great beast that had ruined the plains. If Rick made it through this – _when_ , Shane forced himself to think, _when_ he made it through this – he'd be heralded by the men as their savior.

Shane and Lori sat back down, taking up their positions like sentinels over a grave.

 

 

Daryl rode for a long time, deep into the woods until the horse could comfortably go no farther. There were deer trails and hunting paths but they were made for men on foot and could not harbor such a beast. Daryl turned the animal loose, commanding it return home. He knew he would not want to come back for a long time.

If he came back at all.

Without Rick, there was no reason for him to stay at his home. He wanted neither wife nor child, he didn't want anything but _Rick_ , and if Rick wasn't coming back, then Daryl had no reason to wait for him. He began to walk, and the trees clawed at him and the roots rose up to trip him as though warning him against forging any deeper. Daryl knew, past the point where horses could go, there lived wolves and bears and boar, and monsters that defied belief.

He collapsed against a large, tall oak tree when his knees gave out and his aching feet could carry him no more. He pressed his back to the tree and curled up on himself, his head in his hands, and finally let the grief and sobs overtake him. Out here, no one could hear him grieving, no one would happen upon him and hear him call Rick's name or wipe his trembling hands over his face. He could disappear here, or stay until one of the beasts came upon him and ended his misery altogether.

Overcome with sorrow as he was, he didn't hear footsteps approaching until a shadow fell over him, blocking out the sun. Daryl went tense and lifted his gaze. He had no weapon on him. It was a woman, her skin dark and almost shining as though she was coated in silver. Her eyes were almost black, and solemn, and her hair hung in thick ropes down her back and shoulders. She was barely clothed, only a thin strip of cloth around her breasts and her hips provided her with any modesty.

But Daryl knew he wasn't looking at someone human. "Who are you?" he asked.

She smiled, her teeth as white as bleached bone. She had no weapon that Daryl could see, but Daryl didn't think for a second that she wasn't dangerous. All wildlings had to be, to survive this deep in the woods.

"I know you," she said, crouching down in front of him. Daryl flinched, pulling his feet back so he was tucked into an even tighter ball. "You used to come and hunt here. Where have you been?"

"I don't know you," Daryl replied. "Who are you?"

"My name is Michonne," the woman said. "What's yours?"

"I thought you said you knew me."

Michonne smiled again. An echo pierced the air – it was Rick's voice, low with pleasure. "Daryl," she said, and it sounded like Rick.

Daryl gritted his teeth and whined. "Don't," he begged. He couldn't bear to hear Rick's voice. But the woods knew them, from when they'd snuck into their folds and lay with each other in the middle of the night. The trees talked to one another.

Michonne blinked at him, before she frowned and crawled forward on her palms and the balls of her feet. She reached out and touched Daryl's tear-streaked cheek before kneeling back and licking his tears from the tips of her fingers. She hummed, like they told her something.

"I can help," she said.

"Help with _what_?" Daryl demanded. Wasn't it fair to ask for some solitude? He just wanted to disappear, where not even the Fey could find him.

"Your lover," Michonne replied. Daryl blinked at her, his eyes widening. "I can help."

"…How?" Daryl asked, suspicious but no less hopeful for it. It was foolish to think some stranger in the woods would be able to help him, or that there wouldn't be some tremendous price, but Daryl had to know. He _had_ to know. "Can you heal him?"

"I can bring him back," Michonne said, nodding. She stood and turned away.

"Wait!" Daryl gasped, scrambling to his feet. He reached out to touch her but his hand stopped a few inches away as though held there. Michonne turned back to look at him with narrowed eyes. "How can you…how can you bring him back?"

"It's heavy magic," she said, like a warning. "Requires a sacrifice."

"What kind of sacrifice?" Daryl whispered.

She smiled. "It won't kill you," she said, and turned back around to face him fully. "But you might wish it had."

"Please," Daryl begged. "Tell me. I'll do anything to bring him back."

Michonne raised an eyebrow, and cocked her head to one side. The power holding Daryl's arm still was released and it fell back to his side and he took a step forward. "Please," he begged again, holding his arms out to either side of him like an offering. "I'll do whatever it takes. Tell me what I need to do."

"It demands blood," Michonne said. "All great magic does."

"I'll give it freely," Daryl replied.

She smiled, and held out her hand. "Come with me, Daryl," she said. Her voice took on this quality, mesmerizing and hypnotic, and Daryl found himself slipping his hand into hers without another thought. Her smile widened, revealing pointed teeth, and she turned and started to lead him deeper into the woods, where not even the light could penetrate.

 

 

"…Water…"

Lori stirred at the soft voice, looking up from where she and Shane had curled up together at the foot of Rick's bed. She looked down at Shane but he was still asleep, his face lax and young unlike when it normally was during his waking hours.

She sat up, rubbing at her eyes.

"Water…"

"Oh my God, Rick?" she whispered, pushing herself to her feet and going over to Rick's side. Rick's eyes were moving around wildly under his closed eyelids, and as she watched they cracked open, revealing a flash of the blue. "Rick! Shane, wake up! Rick's awake!"

She hurried to grab Shane's water skin as the man stirred, and by the time she came back Shane was sitting up and looking at her, still drowsy and disoriented. "What?" he muttered, rubbing over his face.

"Rick's awake! Help me lift him," Lori demanded, splashing some of the water on Shane's face to get him moving. Shane grunted, before he realized what she had said and his eyes widened. They both hurried to Rick's bedside and Shane pulled him into a sitting position. Rick moaned, wincing at the rough treatment, and opened his mouth when Lori pressed the lip of the water skin to his lips, letting him drink.

"Holy shit, it worked," Shane whispered, his eyes wide as Rick lifted a shaking hand and held the water skin so that he could take one long, deep pull of it. He coughed, his entire body shaking with it, and bent forward, his head in his hands. "Easy now, brother. Been out for a while. Take it easy."

"Ugh, fuck," Rick growled, wiping at his mouth. He held a hand out for more water and Lori gave him the skin and let him take another drink. "What happened?"

"You almost got your fool ass killed is what happened," she said, scolding but too happy to make it sting.

Rick groaned again, before he straightened and opened his eyes. "The dragon?" he asked.

"You killed it," Shane said. "It almost got you, too. Probably would have if not for that thing you wear."

Rick winced and felt at his neck, his eyes widening when he couldn't find the necklace.

"It's here," Lori murmured, holding it up for him to see. Rick took it with wide eyes, clutching at the empty totem tightly. "You're lucky to be alive, Rick. Jesus, we thought we were gonna lose you."

"You don't remember anything?" Shane asked.

Rick shook his head. "I just remember…feeling like I couldn't breathe. And then it was there, and I had to – I had to kill it. And it lunged at me and there was this green smoke all around and then it was gone. I remember killing it. Then it's all…black."

"Well, you're here now," Shane said, breathing out a heavy sigh of relief. "I should tell the Commander."

Rick nodded, and Shane left. He took another drink from the water skin. "How long was I out?"

"Almost two weeks," Lori whispered. "You were wasting away."

"You saved my life," he said, looking at her. "You and Shane. I owe you for that."

"That's just what friends do," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, you men and your _codes_."

Rick managed a weak smile.

 

 

Daryl was screaming. He knew he was screaming because he could feel his lungs aching with it, feel his spine bowing with the force of the pain, felt it ripping his throat apart. But he didn't hear screaming. It sounded like a roar instead, and there was fire – so much _fire_. It burned along his skin but didn't hurt. He was bathing in it. The trees were burning to blackness around him, sending up sparks of ash into the air. It hid the moon.

Michonne was gone, disappeared after the incantation had been complete, and then there was just _pain_. Searing, burning, like Daryl had swallowed an open flame. He screamed again and more fire leaked out of his mouth and onto the ground. And he was too high, as though suspended in the trees, but he could feel the ground beneath his feet.

He rolled his shoulders and great wings the color of pure snow spread out around him. They were scaled and webbed like a bat, ending in wickedly curved claws like hands. He tore at the ground with them and screamed again, and a shot of flame burst from his mouth and lit up another tree. He watched as it crumbled to dust from the heat of the flames.

_Oh God, oh God…_

His body was changing, growing to its new shape. He thrashed around and grunted as a tail, thick with muscle, took down another tree and sent it crashing to the ground. Everything was on fire but he didn't feel the heat. His lungs were aflame, his eyes dry and wide.

He knew what was happening, understood it like one understands the sun rising and the seasons changing. She had _done something_ to him, had clawed apart his human skin and changed him into this beast, this _monster_.

He growled, the sound rumbling along the ground. He could hear wildlife skitter away, scents sharp with fear. He could feel the wind blowing through the trees and his wings twitched, catching the currents. He wanted to _leap_ , to _rise_.

He jumped from the burning ground and scrambled to the top of a tree, long neck arching up until he could see the small dots of light that marked his village. He roared again, more fire falling from his mouth and landing in the leaves and branches below.

He heard a low laugh and turned his head, growling when he saw Michonne. She was astride a large bird, but it had the body of a horse and the tail of a lion. Its claws were fierce and its beak sharp and it let out a shrill cry that Daryl answered with a roar of his own.

 _You tricked me,_ he thought, because he couldn't speak.

Michonne shrugged one shoulder as her mount landed daintily on the next tree. "I said I could bring him back," she said. "This will bring him back."

Daryl roared, and tried to breathe fire at her and her mount. The animal took off from the trees easily, cawing at him as though offended. Michonne laughed and the thing started to swoop away.

"Good luck, Daryl!" she called. "We'll speak again!"

Daryl trembled. He wanted to spread his wings and chase after her, catch her, _kill her_ , but when he tried to he lost his balance and had to grab onto the tree to keep himself from falling. He snarled, and slithered back to the floor. The forest was still burning around him, smoke dense in his lungs and fire burning the backs of his eyes.

 _Burn it all_ , he thought. He would take her home from her, destroy the whole forest if that's what it took. She had made him into a monster, and for what? What could _possibly_ bring Rick back to him now? He had been a _fool_ to trust the witch.


	10. Chapter 10

"Lord Reginald! Lady Deanna! My Lord, please, come quickly!"

Carl flung open the doors to his parents' bedroom, the servants hovering nervously at the threshold. "Dad!" he yelled, running to the bed and tugging on his father's hand. Reginald woke quickly, started by the sound. "Dad, you have to get up."

"What's happening?" Reginald asked, swinging his feet to rest on the floor. Next to him, Deanna stirred, pulling the blankets up hastily to cover her shift and shield her body from the eyes of her son and the servants. She sat up with wide eyes.

"The forest is on fire," Carl whispered, and stepped back so his father could get to his feet. "Lord Dixon has already gathered her men and intends to march on the forest. I saw them leaving just now."

"Fetch my horse," Reginald commanded. The servants gathered nodded, and Reginald's valet ran to the closet to grab some clothing suitable for him to leave the bedroom.

"Father, there's something else," Carl said as Reginald shrugged on a shirt and jacket, stepping into his leggings to fasten those quickly. "I saw – there's something out there. It's not a natural fire."

"What did you see?"

Carl shook his head. "The men are whispering about a dragon."

"A dragon, huh?" Reginald said. He smiled over at Deanna. "It's been a long time since I've killed one of those."

"Please, be safe," Deanna said. Reginald crossed to her and kissed her cheek. Deanna smiled weakly, and then held her arms out for Carl. "Carl, come here." Carl ran to her and climbed onto the bed as Reginald left, still dressing hurriedly and heading down to the stables.

"I wish Rick was here," Carl murmured.

Deanna sighed and pressed a kiss to Carl's hair. "Me, too."

 

 

Daryl soared above the trees, spitting fire onto any part that looked too green and alive. The fire lit up his wings, making them shine as brightly as a full moon. They shimmered and glowed as though laid with silver and moonlight. The rest of his body was a pale blue, on the underbelly he was flecked with white, and when he caught flashes of his reflection in reservoirs of water, he could see each scale and frill was shining with silver, like had been pulled straight from the metal.

Wolves were howling below him, trying to outrun the fire. Stags, boar, smaller animals, he could smell their fear and he snarled, more fire leaking out from around his teeth. Everything hurt, he ached down to his stomach, but the air was cool along his heated, frayed nerves, the wind danced under his wings like playful children.

He landed on a tree and roared, screaming his anger and his grief to anyone that would listen. He did not see Michonne, her mount, or any of the fey in his destructive path. He could only hope that he had managed to kill her, or resign himself to the fact that she was too far away to harm anymore.

He growled, tail thrashing, spines on it sharp enough and muscle strong enough to uproot an old oak and send it flying, crashing with another wave of sparks and flames. He could burn the entire forest to the ground in a matter of a night, and it would only be ash and death when he was finished.

But, this forest was the only place that remained of Rick. The trees spoke to one another. They whispered his love's name, they wept for him when Daryl had faced so many cold nights alone. They had welcomed him and held his body when Rick covered him and loved him. They housed the food and the home that Daryl had promised himself he could have, where he and Rick could be free.

He let out a mournful wail, bowing his head, and swallowed back the next bout of fire. His grief cooled him somewhat, it made him feel like he had swallowed a block of ice. When he opens his mouth, there was no fire, but a freezing cold wind. The fire shied from it, dulling and dimming. When Daryl breathed again, the flames shrank back like frightened mice, hissing and spitting and finally going out.

Daryl stepped off his perch, onto the ground. The trees he had not burnt bent to him, like subjects to their king. He rubbed his muzzle against one of the trunks and curled his tail around the other.

 _I'm sorry_ , he thought, because he couldn't speak, and felt them shiver with pleasure.

Then, he heard yelling. He raised his head and climbed back up into a tree, his keen eyes catching the flint of metal off the flicker of embers and moonlight above him. He recognized his father's horses easily, and the crest on the men's shields, and the banner flying high above. Next to his father's banner, he saw a similar one. It was carried by a man clad in armor, and at his side, at the front of the battalion, rode Reginald Grimes, Rick's father.

His eyes widened and he shrank back down. He couldn't afford to let his father's men hunt him, or Rick's father's either. He turned away from the smoking pile of trees and rocks he had left behind, deep into the dark parts of the forest where there was no light, and no path. The trees seemed to rustle and part for him, and slide back into place when he had passed.

His only hope was to hide. Maybe he'd hide forever. It didn't matter. There was nothing waiting for him back home.

 

 

_Rick,_

_We haven't heard from you in so long. I hope you're okay. I have no idea where to even send this, I just hope it makes it to you._

_I have so much news, I don't even know where to begin._

_Daryl has gone missing._

_I am writing this letter on the first day in August, so I hope it has not been too long since then and now. Daryl has been missing for almost a month now. At first, I had thought he had been hunting, and since you left our families have not been close, but then Beth came to visit us because Daryl has not returned. She's distraught._

_The night he went missing, a dragon appeared in the forest. Father thinks it was a dragon, at least. And I saw the fire. The beast nearly burned the whole forest down – but do not worry for our sakes. Father and Lord Dixon were able to drive the beast back. No one has seen it since that night, and there are not even whispers from the hunters who still venture into the forest._

_But Daryl is missing. Beth said he went for a ride that night and I think…_

_I don't know what to think._

_I know Daryl is smart, he can handle himself. But there was so much fire, Rick. If he was caught in it, then I don't know how a man is supposed to survive that._

_I'm going to keep looking for him, and Mother and I are praying for him every day. I know he'll come back. He has to come back. I will write to you again as soon as I receive word, one way or the other. I know Daryl's brother has been searching for him, but there has been no update either way._

_I love you, and I miss you dearly. Please, be safe, for the sake of our parents and for my sake as well._

_Your brother,_

_Carl Grimes._

Shane paused when he entered the cabin, finding Rick reading over the letter again. The only letter he had yet to receive, since they had returned across the sea to the Cliffside encampment. He had gotten the letter almost a week ago, and read it at least once an hour ever since.

Shane sighed, sitting down on his bunk. Rick's face was wet with tears.

"You wrote to Daryl when I was sick," he said. Shane nodded – he had told Rick as much. "Do you think he…do you think he thought me dead?"

"I don't know," Shane replied. "I never got any word back. Frankly I wasn't even sure he had received it."

"I think he did," Rick said. "If I hadn't been so stupid, if I had just swallowed my pride and obeyed my Commander, I wouldn't have gotten sick. Daryl wouldn't have had to think me dead, he wouldn't have -." Rick sucked in a hard, shuddery breath, his fingers going white at the knuckles as the letter folded in his hand. "Now he's gone. He might have died."

"Hey, let's stop the switch of each one of you thinking the other is dead," Shane said. Rick looked at him, his eyes bright with tears that were waiting their turn to be shed, and Shane managed a weak smile. "I mean, he thought you were dead, you're fine – now you're thinking he's dead, chances are he's probably fine. You know, patterns and shit."

"I can't afford false hope," Rick said. "Everything I am relies on him being there when I go home. I don't know what to do without that on the horizon."

Shane nodded. "I'm not asking you to believe me," he murmured. "I'm just asking you not to decide things are a certain way and ignore everything else. That's a real easy way to end up worse off than you were before, brother, trust me."

Rick pressed his lips together, looking away. "I can't believe it's been almost a year," he whispered. "Does it feel like a year?"

Shane shook his head. "No," he replied.

"Do you think they'll let you go home, once Lori is close to becoming a mother?"

"If they send her away, they'll have to send me away too," Shane said. "But I don't know what's going to happen. Way I see it, you've more than earned you ticket outta here. I want you to go home."

Rick shook his head. "I don't know about that," he said. "But at least since we're back on the continent, we should be able to write openly to our families again. I can't go so long without any word, from anyone."

"And we still have three years of this shit left," Shane replied.

Rick nodded, smiling wryly, before he abruptly started to cough. He pressed his fist to his mouth and doubled over, his lungs dry and feeling like they had been filled with rusty nails. Shane's eyes widened and he crossed the space to Rick's side, gently rubbing his back.

He pulled out his water skin and handed it to Rick, who took a long drink of it. "Thank you," he said, handing it back.

"That didn't sound good," Shane murmured.

Rick pressed his lips together. "No," he said.

"You should see the medic."

 

 

"Gentlemen, I have good news for some of you, and bad news for others. We're on the move again."

The mess hall went quiet. Commander Gregory rocked back on his heels, surveying those gathered with a keen eye.

"There's been reports of a dragon in one of the King's own lands. These lands are under the care and ordination of former Commander and General Grimes of the King's army, and Lord Dixon. They have requested we send all capable men to their land to help track down and kill the beast."

"Grimes," came a whisper, then another. "Rick – Rick's home? Where is Rick?" The men started to whisper, louder and louder, until Commander Gregory held up a hand for silence.

"All men will report to their commanding officers for assignment. We move out at dawn." The men nodded, scattering, and then Commander Gregory sighed, and made his way to the medic tent. Inside, Rick was sitting on a stool, his shirt off to expose his back and chest to the air. His pendant hung around his neck, open now that it had been used.

Rick raised his eyes and took in a deep breath at the medic's urging. The medic had a cone of metal pressed to his back, listening as Rick breathed. "Commander," Rick said in greeting. "I'm sorry, I was told not to stand."

"That's alright," Commander Gregory replied. He paused for a moment, listening to Rick breathe again. Rick started to cough a second later, flattening his hand to his mouth. He raised an eyebrow. "How is he, Milton?"

"It sounds almost like influenza," the medic said, frowning and lifting his head. He moved the cone away and set it down. "His lungs are full of moisture, making it difficult to breathe normally, but he has none of the other symptoms."

"Could it be lingering from his illness?" Commander Gregory asked. "From the dragon?"

"Possibly," Milton said. "What we gave him was only a small drop of the lake water, enough to save him from death. But he may need more, or a consistent dose. I cannot say for certain – this is the realm of magic, not science."

Rick rubbed his hands over his face. "Rick," Commander Gregory said. "Where did you get this totem?"

"My father gave it to me," he said. "It was from my mother, she was Pagan before she married. She told him about this magic lake in the forest by our homestead where the water can cure anything."

Commander Gregory raised an eyebrow. "What a fortunate turn of events this is becoming," he said, and Rick frowned, cocking his head to one side. "Your father has just sent word that there is a dragon plaguing his lands, and despite his best efforts, he and Lord Dixon are unable to find and kill the beast."

"Lord Dixon?"

"I trust you're familiar."

Rick pressed his lips together and nodded. "His youngest son is my friend," he said. "The one I wished to visit for his wedding. My brother wrote to me and told me he disappeared the night the dragon attacked. I think…I think he might be dead."

"Well, perhaps this is a chance to find out for yourself," Commander Gregory said. "We have been summoned, with the King's permission, to go to your homestead at the request of your father. We will be tasked with rooting out and slaying the beast. Since you're already quite proficient in dragon slaying, I imagine we could use your help." He paused. "This sickness, though, is concerning. If you can hardly breathe, I doubt you'll be in fighting shape."

"I can handle it," Rick said, pushing himself to his feet. He pulled his shirt back over his head and stood straight, like a soldier, his eyes meeting Commander Gregory's and holding the challenge. After a moment, Commander Gregory smiled.

"Perhaps you will find this magic lake," he said, and clapping Rick on the arm. "Milton, make sure he's in as best shape as you can get him. We're leaving at dawn."

"Yes, Commander," Milton said, nodding rapidly.

 

 

_Carl,_

_This letter might not actually beat me home, but I would be remiss if I did not write it anyway._

_I'm coming home. Father sent a request to the King for aid in fighting the dragon, and our encampment is sending every able-bodied soldier home. I'm coming home._

_I don't know if Daryl is alive, or dead, but if he is one or the other, I will not rest until I know. There is nothing that will keep me from finding out the truth, even if I have to dig his bones out of the belly of this terrible beast._

_I ask that you study hard, and be there for Mother while Father and I fight against the dragon. You may need to keep the house and home while we are away, but I have faith in your ability to do so. You're young, but you're much smarter than I ever was. Pay attention to Mother and obey her – she is the best tutor I could ask for you._

_Also, I ask that you keep attentive to Beth. She had affection for Daryl, I know she did, and she is my friend and a friend of our family._

_Accompanying me will be close friends of mine. Their names are Shane and Lori. Lori is with child, and she will likely bear her baby into the world while we are there. Tell her she may have my room while I am here. I have no use for it, and she will be much more comfortable there._

_I am so happy to be coming home, even in the circumstances. I pray that the journey is swift and we can bring peace back to our home quickly._

_With love,_

_Rick._


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been a while hasn't it, regular posting schedules are w i l d

Rick gazed out across the side of the ship as the distant steeple of the lighthouse came into view. Everything looked exactly as he remembered it. Of course, he scarcely imagined a lot would change within a year, but even with the thought that there had been a dragon ruthlessly attacking his neighbors, the dock and the merchants within it were going about their business as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

The King's army ships took up the entire western part of the port, the great ships pressed tightly enough together that the rolling, gentle waves held a danger of knocking the canons together. Rick walked slowly off of the ship, nauseous and uneasy as his legs adjusted to the lack of motion on dry land. His lungs were still very weak and he found that if he breathed too suddenly, he was wracked by a coughing fit that rendered him hardly able to stand.

Lori stayed with him as Shane helped with unloading the chests and trunks, until Rick's attention was caught by a cry of his name. He looked up, eyes widening when he saw his mother, father, and Carl sitting in a coach emblazoned with his family crest. Carl leapt out of the coach and ran to him, throwing himself into Rick's arms and hugging him tightly.

Rick coughed and tried to stifle the sound. "Hey," he said, straightening and putting a hand on Carl's hair. It was longer now and almost reached his shoulders. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Father was sent a letter from Commander Gregory," Carl said. "He wanted a report of what they'd already done to find the dragon, and go from there." Then, Carl's eyes flashed to Lori. Her belly jutted from her slim frame almost obscenely, especially considering that her clothes were little more than pieces of fine silk that turned translucent in the right light.

"Carl, this is Lori. You remember me mentioning her," Rick said. Lori smiled and held out her hand. Carl took it, pressing it to his lips as he had been taught. Rick felt a small swirl of pride in his chest. "Her husband is Shane. I'm sure he'll join us soon."

Carl nodded. "Mother will be so happy to see you," he said.

"I'm sure my Commander won't mind her coming to say 'Hello' while he speaks with Father," Rick replied. Carl grinned and turned around, sprinting back towards the carriage.

Lori let out a soft laugh, rubbing over her belly. "That's your brother?" she asked, and Rick nodded. "Were you that gangly at his age?"

Rick laughed. "Probably," he said. "My Father started training me young, though. He was much gentler with Carl."

"He'll grow into it," Lori said, nodding once as though confirming it to herself. "You both have the same eyes. Are they your mother's?"

"Yes," Rick replied. He licked his lips and reached out, bracing himself on a small stack of wooden crates by their side as his body trembled. He tried to take in a deep breath, wanting to avoid irritating his lungs as much as possible. Since his first attack, he had found himself getting progressively worse, to the point where he felt tired simply standing for long periods of time. Luckily the workload had been light – Rick's status was high enough that he was allowed the privilege of laziness, and since they were going to be hosted by his father, he knew he was being allowed more leeway than other soldiers were.

"Rick," Lori said softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Really, you need to rest. The Commanders and your father are more than capable of hunting this dragon down. I can't imagine Gregory would refuse if you said you were too sick to fight."

"I can't," Rick growled, looking at her, his jaw clenched. "I can't – I have to know," he said. He swallowed and licked his lips, looking away. "I have to know what happened to Daryl."

"Richard!"

Rick looked up as Deanna ran to him, coming to a stop a few feet away. He smiled and straightened, holding his arms out to her. She had tears in her eyes and ran to him, wrapping her arms tightly around his chest as he hugged her. She seemed so much smaller than he remembered her being.

"And you must be Lori," Deanna said when she pulled away, and hugged Lori just as tightly. Lori was wide-eyed and sent Rick a look over his mother's shoulder, but Rick just shrugged and grinned at her. "Rick wrote to me and you are more than welcome to stay with us. You may be here long enough to become a mother and the barracks are no place to give birth to a child."

"You're very kind," Lori said. "Thank you."

Rick pressed his fist to his mouth, coughing as quietly as he could into it. It was no use, though – the fit grew worse, and left him shaking and pale, clinging tightly to the stack of crates. Deanna regarded him with wide eyes.

"Rick…are you alright?"

Rick nodded, gasping, his spasming lungs fighting him, refusing every breath of air he tried to grab from the sea. The ocean air had been cold and stale in his lungs but the humidity here was irritating them, sand and dust threatening to make him cough up everything.

"Rick! Hey, brother, it's okay. C'mere."

Shane appeared from the throng of soldiers, his shirt stained with sweat, forehead shining with it. He looked incredibly out of place amongst the armored soldiers and finely-dressed merchants. Rick grabbed a tight hold of his shoulder, leaning on him for support. Shane reached into a pouch in his belt.

"Alright, brother, you're gonna be fine. Just breathe." He pulled a small square of cloth from the pouch. It looked like the same kind of material that sailors stored sacks of grain it, and was moist on the inside. He handed it to Rick. "Over your nose and mouth. Breathe deep."

Rick closed his eyes and obeyed. The inside of the fabric smelled faintly of crisp pine and mint, and as Rick breathed in he felt his lungs relaxing, either too exhausted to continue, or soothed by the vapor. He opened his eyes as he felt himself able to breathe better and nodded, letting go of Shane.

"Are you…a healer?" Deanna asked, clutching at her neck, her eyes dark with worry and fixed on Rick.

Shane shook his head, huffing a sheepish laugh. "No, my lady. I'm just a silk merchant's son."

"Shane is my friend," Rick said. "Lori's husband." He barely got the word out before he started coughing again, wincing and pressing the cloth to his mouth.

Shane rubbed over his back, humming softly. "What happened to him?" Carl whispered, his eyes wide.

Shane sighed. "We were summoned to the desert, and Rick fought a gas dragon. The beast's breath is a poisonous gas that kills whoever breathes it in. Rick is only alive because of the water in the totem you gave him."

"Oh, my sweet boy," Deanna said, the tears finally spilling out as she put a hand to her mouth. "How long has he been like this?"

"Shortly before we came here," Lori said. "We think, perhaps, if he was given more of the water…"

"No one knows where that fountain is," Deanna replied, shaking her head. "It was just a legend."

"Well, from the sound of it, we're about to get real acquainted with the forest. If it's there, we'll find it," Shane said, still rubbing Rick's back. "Hey, you're Carl, right?" he asked, and Carl nodded, still wide-eyed and looking up at Rick, incredibly sad. "You guys got any good merchants here that sell oils and candles?" Carl nodded again. "Cool. Let me show you what I put on the inside of this that'll help Rick breathe until we find the lake, okay?"

He moved from the group and Carl followed after a nod from Deanna. Rick spied his father approaching and crushed the cloth in his hand, straightening up. His hands were shaking but he would _not_ show weakness in front of his father.

"Richard," Reginald said, coming to a stop in front of Rick. Rick saluted him, holding the position until Reginald nodded at him and Rick allowed himself to relax. "How was your voyage?"

Rick licked his lips. "Uneventful," he said.

"You've been doing well, from what I've heard from your Commander," Reginald said. Rick smiled weakly. He could feel sweat at the back of his neck and hoped he didn't appear as sickly as he felt. "Already killed yourself a dragon, if rumors are to be believed."

"I served my King and my country," Rick replied, and Reginald's eyes flashed with pride. His stern expression melted into an amused smile.

"That's my boy," he said proudly, and clapped Rick on his arm. "Now I must speak with Gregory. I'll see you later tonight."

"Yes, Sir," Rick said, and saluted him once more before Reginald left with Deanna, towards the ship where Commander Gregory was being carried. Rick pressed the cloth to his mouth immediately, sucking in a deep breath.

Lori let out a soothing noise, rubbing his back gently. "Your father's approval means a lot to you," she said. Rick didn't have the energy to defend himself. "Does any of your family know about Daryl?"

A pang of heartache shot through Rick's chest at the mention of his lover's name. Rick shook his head. "Just Carl," he rasped. "Please, don't say anything."

"I won't," Lori replied. "Come on, let's get you to the coach and we can wait until your mother returns."

 

 

 

Daryl found that he had taken to life as a dragon quite nicely. No one bothered him except for the birds, and they would come and sit on his back and peck the rocks and dirt out from between his scales, which was a wholly pleasant sensation and something he definitely did not see a need to complain about.

He had made friends with a family of foxes, and the young ones liked to chase and wrestle with the fins and spines on his tail as he swished it back and forth and watched them chase.

He was deep in the forest where no man had ever gone before. At least, nothing he could smell, anyway, which was good enough for him. Maybe one day someone determined enough and foolish enough would come searching for him but the fact of the matter was no one could get an army this deep in the forest, and Daryl could handle one soldier with more guts than sense.

This was Daryl's life now. Rick was gone, he would never be coming back, and Daryl was going to live out the rest of his days in solitude with nothing but the animals as his companions. It was almost close to what he'd always wanted. Rick was the only thing missing.

He opened one eye and huffed, raising his head when he heard the large wingbeats of Michonne's beast. The creature landed on one of the trees, screeching at him, wings flared. The witch grinned down at Daryl and waved in greeting.

Daryl huffed. _Go away_ , he thought at her, knowing she could hear.

"Go away, get back here, go away again!" she said, still grinning. She jumped off her beast and landed daintily on the ground by one of Daryl's front feet. Daryl huffed and rolled over so his back was to her. The foxes scattered when his tail went away, yipping madly.

Michonne jumped onto his side and plopped down just shy of his wing, her legs braced on his shoulder and the base of his neck. She poked him with the blunt end of her spear. "I have news!" she said. "You sure you don't want to hear it?"

Daryl rolled his eyes and idly wondered if he could angle a jet of flame from here and roast her steed before it could get away. The few times Michonne had reappeared to him, Daryl had been less than welcoming. He had tried to kill her more times than he could count, but she was too slippery and too small for him now.

 _If I listen, will you go away?_ he asked.

Michonne grinned. "This is a happy day, Daryl! Rick Grimes has set foot back on this land!"

Daryl blinked, his eyes widening, and he rolled onto his stomach suddenly. She slid down him gracefully, coming to a stop in front of him as he righted himself, got to his feet, and arched his neck so that he could see her properly.

His eyes narrowed, distrustful. _Rick is dead,_ he said.

Michonne laughed. "I promised I could bring him back," she said cheerily. "Can't bring a dead man back!"

Daryl blinked at her, his mind racing. _He's_ … But that couldn't be. The letter from his friend had seemed so bleak, how on _Earth_ could Rick be alive? And why was he here, then? _Do you know how?_ he asked, unable to stop his wings fanning the air in excitement.

"He's come to kill a dragon!"

Daryl straightened up, sitting on his haunches, his wings falling loosely around him. Rick was here to kill a dragon. Of course. All the soldiers available would have been summoned if there was a dragon spotted wreaking havoc on the King's lands – and in the lands of one of his most decorated soldiers, no less. He glared at Michonne.

_You knew this would happen._

Michonne shrugged, pursing her lips together, and spun her spear around in a lazy figure eight around her body. "Soldiers go away to fight dragons, a dragon shows up at home, soldiers come home to fight dragons," she said.

_I can't be with him like this!_

Michonne grinned. "I promised I'd bring him back," she said. "I brought him back."

Daryl snarled, baring his teeth at her so that she could see the shine of his fire behind his teeth. She went tense, and Daryl heard her beast shift behind him in the trees, ready to rescue her and fly them both away. He growled at her and lashed his tail in anger, but it was no use. There was no reason to think he'd be able to kill her this time.

He looked away, sighing, steam coming out of his nostrils. _Is there…?_ He sighed and looked back at her. _Is there any way for this to end happily?_

Michonne cocked her head to one side, a strangely sad look coming across her face, and she took a cautious step forward, closer to Daryl. He gave a low growl in warning, but she stepped forward again until she was able to press a hand to his chest.

"You have a good heart, Daryl," she said. "We were sad when you stopped hunting here."

Daryl lowered his head, settling back down on his stomach. He felt incredibly tired, suddenly, and was unable to stop his eyelids drooping.

 _If you help me, I'll come back,_ he said. _I wanted to bring Rick here, with me. I wanted us to live in the woods, together, alone._

Michonne turned her head, meeting his eye. She pressed her lips together and nodded. "Your father wants to tear the trees down," she said. "If I help you, you must promise that you will not allow him to do this."

 _Of course_ , Daryl said. _I swear_.

She smiled and patted her palm against the soft scales on his chest. "Good," she said. She put her fingers in her mouth and whistled, summoning her beast. "Rest now, Daryl. Sleep. And when you wake, you mustn't manic."

 _What does that mean?_ Daryl demanded, but he couldn't even muster up the strength to lift his head. She had cast some spell over him, he was certain. His wings twitched and his tail curled, but he couldn't get his legs to move, or his eyes to stay open. Sleep overtook him like a leaden cloak, pulling him into darkness.

 

 

 

"Dude, your house is _nice_ ," Shane said when he was finished loading his and Lori's things into Rick's room. Commander Gregory – at the insistence of Reginald, Rick was sure – had commanded Rick to remain in his father's house while preparations were made for the search and attack on the dragon. Rick had barely made it up the stairs.

He smiled weakly, sitting on the small couch by his window. He looked out towards the forest, swallowing a hollow pit of sadness as he saw the charred swath of destruction that the terrible creature had wrought. He pressed Shane's medicine cloth to his mouth and took in a breath.

"You should have the bed," Lori said, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

Rick smiled, turning his head away to regard her. "You're with child," he said. "And I think you and Shane would appreciate the space. I confess I've gotten used to the bunks. My bed would be much too large for me."

She smirked at him. "Liar," she said, and let out a squeal as Shane attacked her from the other side of the bed, pulling her backwards and into his arms.

"We should be thankful that our friend is so generous," Shane said, and Lori giggled, blushing madly as Shane kissed her cheek, one of his big hands cupping her belly, the other wrapping gently around her shoulders.

Rick sighed. "One day I hope I'm half as happy as you are," he said, quietly.

Lori sighed, sobering up, and kissed Shane briefly before he let her go and she stood, coming to sit at Rick's feet on the window bench.

"You _will_ be," she said, resting her hand on Rick's knee. "We're going to find Daryl, the two of you will be married, and our children will play with Carl's children. We'll be neighbors, whenever I can convince Shane to stay in a port longer than two days," she added, throwing a wink her husband's way.

Rick huffed, looking out of the window again. "Before I forget," he said. "Daryl had a fiancé." Lori frowned, but didn't ask. "Her name is Beth Greene, she's a wonderful girl and I know she's going to be very upset by Daryl's disappearance as well. She doesn't know the nature of mine and Daryl's relationship but I consider her a friend. If she does call on the house and I'm not here, I ask that you treat her the same way you would treat a sister of mine."

"Of course," Lori said. Talking so much had strained Rick's throat, and after walking up the stairs and getting settled in, he was incredibly tired. He had heard his mother talking about medicine men and doctors from the markets and he was sure he was going to be subjected to a whole barrage of medical attempts to try and cure his sickness. He hoped one of them worked, so that he might join the search and the hunt for Daryl as soon as possible.

"You should rest," Shane said, helping Lori to her feet and coaxing Rick to lie down, facing the window. He pulled a blanket over Rick's body and pet a hand through his sweaty hair, once. "I'm gonna go see what the Commander wants us to do, and I'll tell you what he says, okay? You just make sure you're in prime dragon-fighting shape."

Rick smiled weakly. "Okay," he said, the sound little more than an exhale. Lori leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek, squeezing his hand gently, before they took their leave of his room. Rick kept his eyes on the forest, unsure of what he hoped to see. Maybe, if he stared long enough and wished for it hard enough, he would see Daryl riding out on one of his father's big horses, right as rain, and he would come and scoop Rick up into his arms and ride away into the woods.


	12. Chapter 12

Rick stirred, awoken by the sound of his bedroom door opening. He was still lying on the couch that made up the window bench. Lori and Shane had, to his gratitude, refrained from laying with each other as man and wife in his bed. When he rolled over and cocked his head towards the door, he saw that the bed was empty of Shane. Lori was watching the door as well, a book resting on her pregnant belly.

It was Carl. He was carrying a tray with a large, steaming kettle and a mug in his hands. He offered Rick a smile and Lori a polite nod, before he carried it over to Rick and set it down on the little table by Rick's head.

"Morning!" he said, overly brightly as people tended to do around the mortally ill. Rick smiled and let Carl help him sit upright. He had a lavish number of pillows piled at his back to help keep his lungs clear.

"What's this?" he asked, nodding at the mug. He could see some herbs crushed up in the bottom of it and there was a strong smell of mint coming from either it or the teapot. Carl poured some of the boiling water over the leaves in the mug and then set the teapot back down.

"Shane went with me to the markets and showed me some of the herbs he had been using to make his medicine for you," Carl explained, holding the mug to Rick, who took it and breathed in the fumes deeply. The humid, warm air felt nice on his throat. "He's also gonna show me how to make that ointment so you can breathe."

If Rick already didn't love Shane like a brother, that would have cemented his love for the man. He smiled, swallowing hard, and took a sip of the tea. It was scalding on his tongue but felt amazing in his throat.

"You think you can come downstairs eat somethin'?" Carl asked. "Father's hosting the Commander for breakfast. He's due in an hour."

Rick sighed. "How much does Father know of my…condition?" he asked.

Carl pressed his lips together. "I'm not sure," he replied. "But I'm sure it'll come up."

"I should be there."

"Rick," Lori said, putting her book down and coming to sit by his hip on the window bench. She put a hand on his chest, so-gently, her eyes dark with worry. "Don't strain yourself."

"If I can't handle breakfast with my father, you may as well put me in the ground now," Rick said, sighing into his mug before taking another sip. Carl and Lori shared a look, worried and pale. "I'll be alright," he added, because he knew they wouldn't stop worrying either way, but it felt nice to say it. "Just rest and fluids, right? I'll recover and aid in the fight against the dragon. I'll…I'll find Daryl." He looked back out of the window. "One way or the other."

"That's the spirit," Lori said, forcing a bright smile to her face. She stood and pressed a kiss to Rick's forehead before making her way back to the bed. "I swear, if this thing doesn't come out of me soon I'm going to go reaching in there myself."

Rick huffed a laugh, swallowing it back before it could turn into a cough. "If the baby is half as stubborn as either your or Shane, I think you're in for a fight."

Lori laughed, her eyes alight. "You know, I don't have any siblings. I had always wanted a little sister, one that I could dress up and braid her hair and we'd both go into town and flirt with the sailors…" She sighed. "Never got one. But I think I'd have been very happy having you for a brother."

Rick swallowed, his chest warm with affection. They shared a smile. "You're not braiding my hair," he said, and Lori collapsed on herself, giggling.

 

 

Rick managed to get himself dressed and downstairs for breakfast with minimal help from Lori and Carl. As soon as they were within earshot of the room, he forced them away and made his uncooperative lungs go still. He would not show weakness in front of his father.

They entered the room and he saw that his father and mother were there. Commander Gregory was already standing behind Rick's usual place. He took a spot next to him and saluted. Commander Gregory's eyes flashed and he put Rick at ease quickly, and they all took their seats.

"Where's Shane?" Lori asked, settling herself into place with a wince as she adjusted the swell of his stomach to fit comfortably under the table.

"With the garrison," Commander Gregory replied, just enough firmness in his tone to let Lori know that that was where he _should_ be, and the privilege of staying in Rick's room was not one that would extend to his other duties. She nodded, apparently settled enough just knowing where he was.

Warm soup was brought to each of them by the servants. The scents of tomato, basil, and warm bread greeted Rick and he heaved a deep breath. It was a simple meal, but eating in his home settled him more than he had imagined it would. He had never fashioned himself as being homesick – home was a person for him, not a place – but he loved the sight of his mother and father sitting across from him at the table, Carl at his father's side across from Rick, Lori seated across from his mother.

They began eating after a short prayer, thanking God for the safe journey and asking for wisdom and strength when it came to fighting the dragon. The soup was gentle on Rick's sore throat, warming his insides, and he ate heartily. In his head, he also sent a prayer of thanks to whatever old Gods his mother had worshipped, for their holy water that had saved his life. He hoped to find the font of it soon, sure that it would help him get the strength he needed to fight the dragon and find out what happened to Daryl.

"So, Lord Grimes, how many men can you spare of your personal keep to aid us in the venture?"

"I have one hundred men loyal to my name scattered around. Lord Dixon can provide a hundred more, and his stallions are surpassed by none in their ability in a fight. He has thirty in his stable."

"So many," Lori said, wide-eyed.

"Yes. It will be a challenge to navigate such a force through the woods. We stand little chance of sneaking up on the beast."

"Perhaps a smaller garrison should go in front," Rick suggested. "Find its tracks. Nothing that size moves like a spirit."

Commander Gregory huffed, an affectionate smile on his face. "You so ready to kill your second dragon, Rick?"

Rick smiled, swallowing as his lungs began to itch. He turned and coughed into his arm. Luckily it was a small fit, and over quickly. The tea and the soup had gone a long way to soothing the itch in his throat.

"Rick killed a dragon?" Deanna said. She looked pale.

Rick nodded. "Yes," he replied. "Barely."

"He's being humble," Reginald said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm sure it was a mighty fight!"

"Yes," Commander Gregory said, nodding in acquiescence. "I'll be happy to have Rick back under my command once he recovers."

"Recovers?" Reginald asked, frowning. "What from?"

"Father, I…" Rick set his spoon down, his free hand kneading nervously at his thigh. Across from him, Carl was looking at him with wide eyes, a meaningful look on his face. "When I fought the dragon, I was terribly injured. It's only through the grace of the totem you gave me that I'm alive at all."

"I don't understand."

"The dragon your son bravely fought was a gas dragon, or so I have been told by Commander Horvath. It is a beast that breathes a toxic venom into the air. Any man who breathes it in dies. Or, every man until Rick, that is." Commander Gregory sighed. "He is alive, thank God, but apparently the beast's breath has had some…side effects."

Rick nodded, his shoulders tucked and his head low under the weight of his father's gaze. When he dared look up, he saw Reginald's face was tight with veiled concern. Deanna had tears in her eyes. "I believe if I find more of the water, I may be cured," he offered, small pittance though it felt.

Rick could look upon his father's face for a hundred years, frozen exactly how it was, and still not quite know the emotion behind it.

Reginald blinked and regarded Commander Gregory. "How bad is it?" he asked, whisper-quiet.

Commander Gregory looked at Rick, and sighed. "I fear he might not see next winter if we don't find help soon," he said. Deanna gasped, covering her mouth, the tears starting to fall down her cheeks. "But we must have faith. Rick is strong, and the woods cannot possibly be so deep that if there is such a lake, we will find it."

"I must – excuse me," Deanna said, standing abruptly. The men stood out of respect, and Rick felt his lungs seize up with worry and from the sudden motion. He turned his face into his bicep, racking coughs muffled against the fabric.

"Rick, here!" Carl said, and pulled out a bottle of Shane's ointment. He poured it on one of the serving napkins and handed it to Rick. "Shane gave it to me." Rick took it, pressing it over his nose and mouth, and breathed as deeply as he dared.

 

 

"Rick needs help. _Now_."

"I know. I don't know how to help him, though." Shane rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head helplessly. "If there even is a magic lake in those woods, we'd never find it without horses, without help."

"I can get us horses."

Shane raised an eyebrow, but Carl was already leaving and Shane hurried along behind him. Carl seemed determined, and he was a gangly little thing, and if anything happened to him Shane knew he would never forgive himself, much less that Rick would never forgive him.

"Carl, stop!" Shane protested, as Carl left the manor and headed to the stables. He dared not raise his voice for fear of waking anyone who really _could_ stop them.

"Nicholas!" Carl stage-whispered as he approached the stables. "Nicholas, are you here?"

"My lord?" A stable boy came limping out of one of the stalls. Next to him, a painted mare stuck her head out, nicking in greeting to Carl. Nicholas stopped when he saw Shane and Carl, his eyes wide and nervous. "Yes, m'lord, how can I serve you?"

"Saddle Rick's horse," Carl said. "And Ruffian."

Nicholas nodded and hurried to obey. Shane grabbed Carl by the shoulders, spinning him around. "Carl, what in God's name are you thinkin'?" he demanded. Carl met his gaze steadily, the steel there reminded Shane sharply of the look on Rick's face when he had determined he would sneak out and slay the dragon himself with or without Shane's help. They must have gotten that look from their father.

"We're going to find that lake," Carl said steadily. "I'll be damned if I let my brother die when there was something I could'a done about it. I -." He stopped, looking away, and took in a deep breath. "I let Daryl die. I'm not gonna let Rick die, too."

Shane let go of him, momentarily too shocked to speak. "Daryl's death wasn't your fault," he whispered. "I wrote to him and told him Rick was sick. If anyone's to blame here, it's me."

"Then come with me," Carl said. He wouldn't apologize for Shane's actions – they both knew where each other's guilt lay.

Shane pressed his lips together, wanting to protest, but then Nicholas was there, a bridle in each hand. Ruffian, as it turned out, was the little paint horse that had greeted them before. She was barely old enough to be ridden – though Shane was no expert on horses, being a son of shipyards and ocean waves himself. The other horse, Rick's horse, towered above Ruffian and Nicholas both. She had dark, intelligent eyes, her coat was dark and discolored in places, like she had been bred with Ruffian's mother and one of the famous Dixon black stallions.

She snorted at him as he approached and Shane cupped her cheeks, smiling when she lipped at his shirt. "Hello, gorgeous," he said. He had ridden some when he was a child, he wasn't very good at it, and hoped she forgave him his awkward seat.

Carl mounted Ruffian smoothly, gathering up her reins. "Her name is Troublemaker," he said. Shane grinned at the name. It seemed just like Rick to call her something like that. "She's as sure-footed as they come."

Shane let Nicholas walk her over to the mounting block and got on, sliding his feet through the stirrups and sitting as deeply and securely as he could. Carl walked Ruffian out to the courtyard and turned around as though in afterthought. "Nicholas, don't tell anyone we've left, okay? Don't lie if Father asks, but give us as much a headstart as you can."

"Yes, m'lord," Nicholas said, still wide-eyed and disbelieving, and then Carl clicked his tongue and Ruffian trotted out of the courtyard. After some urging from his heels, Troublemaker followed, grunting low in her chest as she caught up with the smaller horse.

"Rick used to take me on rides that would last for days," Carl said sadly, looking at the horse. "She hasn't been running since he left."

The stone turned to dirt, the horses' hooves going from sharp clips to dull thuds. "Well, let's give her a good run then, shall we?" he asked, and Carl grinned. He dug his heels into Ruffian's flanks and the little horse reared up, whinnying sharply, and took off at a gallop down the road and towards the forest. Troublemaker, all-too-eager to follow, fell into a gallop naturally, and Shane gritted his teeth and did his best to hold on.

 

 

Michonne cocked her head to one side, watching the two men barrel their way across the fields and towards the forest. She smiled. On her shoulder, a small blue light flickered on and off. She turned her head when it chirped in her ear.

She put a finger to her lips, sliding back into the shadows. "I know. Come with me."

 

 

They had been wandering for hours, far past the point of night turning to day and possibly to night again, but there was no rest, no glimpse of sunlight and change of sky color to tell him what hour it might be. This was deep wood, where magic lingered. Shane could feel it skittering along his skin, raising the hairs on his arms.

The horses were uneasy. Troublemaker kept tugging at her reins, wishing he would go in any direction but the one in which they were headed. He took that as a good sign – potentially. Horses wouldn't want to go where mortality shifted planes.

Carl was either unafraid, or determined not to let it show on his face. The path had long-since disappeared. The trees grew so thick that the horses could barely pass by and, after what felt like the nineteenth hour, they dismounted and tied them to a tree near grass on which they could graze.

"This is impossible," Shane whispered. "No wood is this deep."

Carl smiled. "There's a witch that lives in these woods," he said. There was, somehow, just enough light to see by – a glow of eternal dusk sitting underneath the tree line. It was beautiful. It was frightening.

Shane swallowed. "Ain't exactly in the mood for ghost stories, kid."

"It's not a story," Carl said. "She's real." He led the way through the trees, deeper and deeper they trekked until Shane was sure they were lost, and that they'd never find their way out. He felt like there were eyes on him, watching their every move.

"We should turn back," he said.

In front of them, suddenly, a blue light flickered in and out. Carl and Shane froze, their eyes wide and fixed on it. Shane thought he might be able to hear a small, high-pitched laugh. He let out a soft curse and wish he had thought to bring his sword. As it was, he had a small dagger and not much else. In all fairness, he wouldn't be able to swing his sword in trees this dense with any efficiency anyway.

The light flitted closer, turning from a pale blue to a soft white. It took the shape of a tiny man, with wings like a dragonfly's and large, black eyes. He smiled at them and waved. "Hello!" it said brightly.

"What the Hell?" Shane demanded, grabbing Carl's arm and ready to haul him away and back towards whatever direction he hoped was safety.

But Carl didn't budge. "Hello," he replied. "What is your name?"

"What is yours?" the faerie replied, head cocked.

"Carl Grimes," Carl said.

"Carl Grimes," it said back. Then, head cocked; "Rick Grimes. Father?"

"Brother," Carl said, his eyes wide. "Rick is my brother. Do you know him?"

"Carl Grimes, brother of Rick Grimes!" the man said, clapping its hands together. "Welcome!" Then it darted to Shane's face, coming to a stop mere inches away. Shane flinched back. "You. Brother?"

Shane shook his head. "Rick Grimes is my friend," he said.

"Friend. Brother. Welcome! Son of Deanna. Welcome!"

"How do you know us?" Carl asked.

"Sasha," the man said, as if either of them were supposed to know who that was. "Why are you here?"

"We need water," Carl said.

"Carl," Shane whispered, warningly. He had heard stories about the perils of dealing with the Fey.

"Water? Water in air. In trees. Rivers."

"Special water," Carl murmured. "From a lake in the woods. It will heal any wound. Please, Rick is dying. I need water from this lake."

The faerie cocked its head to one side, considering them. "Water is dangerous to get to," it said after a moment. "And cannot be taken."

Carl frowned. "What do you mean?"

"In special rock. Dragonstone. Water cannot leave. Rick must come."

Carl turned to look at Shane, "Dragonstone?" he repeated. "What is that?"

"It's rock that's been bathed in dragon fire," Shane replied, jaw clenching. "Makes it pretty much unbreakable. Always been considered kind of a legend, since there haven't been any dragons around." He sighed through his nose and put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "Fuck. Rick can't make it all the way out here. Not in his condition."

"We have to try," Carl whispered, grabbing Shane's sleeve and gripping tightly. "Shane, we have to _try_."

Shane regarded Carl for a long moment. He could see the determination in the young man's eyes, and loathe as he was to admit it, they were certainly in no condition to keep on like they were. They had no food, no water, no fucking _weapons_ , and if they were gone even half as long as Shane thought they were, Lori and Rick would have noticed and started to panic by now.

He raised his eyes and met the big black ones of the faerie. "Will you help us find the lake?" he asked. "If we get Rick and bring him here?"

The man smiled. "Children of Deanna are welcome here," he replied.

"That's not an answer."

"Hah! Clever friend. Yes, I will help you. I will take Rick Grimes to the lake."

Shane paused. "And what will we give you in return?" he prompted. Fey always demanded an exchange.

The man cocked his head to one side, considering. His eyes flashed. "I like the horse," he said. "The little one."

Shane frowned, looking at Carl. Carl pressed his lips together. "She was meant to be a gift to Beth and Daryl for their wedding," he said, sadly. Shane sighed, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

"Well, it's not like that's going to happen," he replied.

Carl heaved a breath, agreeing with a reluctant nod. "Alright," he said, turning back to regard the faerie. "When we return, with Rick, you will lead us to the lake and you get the horse in return. Deal?"

"Deal!" The man grinned, waving at them, and then flitted away and disappeared between the trees.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh I'm feeling like Rick is right now, and I didn't proofread this as well as I should, but I think that's pretty par for the course. I did really enjoy writing this chapter, though, so I hope you guys like it!

_Daryl,_

_I hope you forgive my penmanship. I have been finding it harder and harder to concentrate on anything for any length of time. Hours pass hazily. I scarcely feel like it is an hour between when I eat breakfast and then supper, hardly one blink and the next between midday and nightfall, and yet at the same time, every second stretches on and on. When I am aware, time stands utterly still._

_Since I will never send this letter, I do not hesitate to write truthfully and without inhibition. I miss you dearly. Every part of my soul hates that the night we shared was the last one, the last time I ever saw you. I will never forget anything about that night. In the details, your memory lives on. Carl's children will hear stories of their uncle's lost love, taken from him too soon._

_Perhaps I will take up an art of some kind. Painting, or narrative. Since my body is failing me, perhaps it is my destiny to simply sit and spend the rest of my waking days trying to memorialize your face or compose a piece of music that comes close to the sound of your voice._

_…Forgive me, again. Illness has made me even more of a hopeless romantic than I was when you knew me. I like to think that you made me better. You improved me, in every conceivable way, and for that I will always love and honor you._

_I find it impossible to think of you as dead. It's as if you have gone away, sailed across the sea, and I wait like a woman on the cliffside, hoping to catch a glimpse of your ship returning. It is as though there is simply a lapse in time, and I'll wake up one day and you will be here, smiling and sitting by me, and everything will be right again._

_You wouldn't have let me go off on such a foolish crusade. I'll admit it – I was weak. Too eager to prove myself my father's son, and not enough sense in my head to listen to Shane and to heed the warnings of the plainspeople. If I had been less rash, I would have never gotten sick, and Shane would not have sent the letter, and you wouldn't have…_

_Again, I find it so strange to think of you as gone. There is destruction here. No one has seen the beast since it first appeared but the forest is weak and black. The townspeople are subdued and afraid. I should be helping them. I should be fighting for them and I should know that you are safe in your father's house while I do it._

_But within all of that, it seems impossible to me that I will never see you again. I'm sure it is just my mother's stories, or the idea of Heaven getting to me. My Heaven is with you. I'm not ashamed to admit that. I promised I would take you away from here, into the woods, and we would live happily together. Duty and honor hardly seem to matter without you by my side._

_I miss you. I love you, so much it hurts me to even write the words. I "treasure" you. That's the Draconian word, right? I should have saved your letters, but I was so afraid of them being discovered that I burned them after I had memorized every word. But my memory is failing me now. Everything is failing me._

_Maybe if you were still alive, and still with me, I would find the will and the strength to fight the disease in my lungs. I don't blame you, Daryl, of course I don't. I would never blame you for my own foolishness, but I think seeing your face would help. I wish there was some likeness of you that I had kept, that I could hold close to my heart when I'm feeling weak._

_I must go, my love. My hand is shaking too much to write further, and I feel my eyes closing again against my will._

_I love you._

_Yours eternally,_

_Rick._

Just before Rick allowed sleep to take him under, he crumpled up the letter, the thick parchment crackling in his hand, and stuffed it between the window bench and the wall. He shoved his blankets over it and laid down, closing his eyes.

 

 

_Lady Greene,_

_I hope this letter finds you well, and in as good spirits as one can hope for under the circumstances. I know, in times of grief and danger, one craves family most of all. Your hearth and your family are far away, but in this time of sadness I offer you my friendship as I did before my leave. To me, you are family, and our shared kinship with Daryl seeded my affection for you. It has not faded, and I hope you know that you will always be a treasured guest and friend in my household._

_Please, allow me to extend anything it is within my power to give you, until, God willing, our fates are decided._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Richard Grimes._

"Will you take this to the Dixon house?" Rick asked when Lori entered his room. He had been getting steadily worse, to the point where staying awake for longer than an hour at a time proved arduous. Lori wore her grief openly, like Rick was her child and she was slowly watching him die. Rick's mother hadn't mustered the strength to visit him or speak with him, although he could catch traces of her perfume on his bedding when he woke up.

She took the letter from him, sliding it into the belt sitting below her breasts, before her stomach started to protrude. "Of course," she said, but did not leave immediately. She sat down next to him, between his head and the little side table on which rested Shane's ointment and Rick's tea, and pet a hand through his hair. "Has any doctor been to see you?"

"Not when I'm awake," Rick said, sighing and immediately having to stifle a cough into the back of his hand. He knew he was positively wretched with decay, his bedclothes stank of sweat and the filth of an unmoving, unwashed body, worse even then when he and Shane would return to the barracks after a long day of sparring.

She tutted. "Honestly, it's like they've given up on you!" she said, her tone curt and tight with anger. "You must not give up, Rick Grimes. I swear to the old Gods and new one that if you die on me, I shall send all the hordes of Hell after your soul to bring you back!"

Rick managed a weak smile. "Do you think I'm going to Hell?" he asked, and he meant it to be teasing but his weak voice was too tired for the jest to land.

"Of course not," Lori replied. "You're one of the finest men I've ever met. When it is all our time, Shane and I will meet you and Daryl in the afterlife and we will all sail the seas of Heaven together and laugh over the drama in the world below."

"I think Daryl and I will be waiting a long time for you both to join us," Rick replied. Then he smiled, a little more genuinely; "Is that what you imagine Heaven will be like? The sea?"

"It is the closest thing to Heaven God has granted us," Lori said with a nod. "I remember Shane's father, he was a good man too, if a little on the conservative side. He would say God gave us the ocean so that we would know how it felt to fly among the angels."

"That's a nice story," Rick said.

Lori hummed, still petting through his sweat-damp hair. "What is Heaven like for you, Rick?"

"I used to think it was the woods," Rick said, turning his head away so that he could gaze out of the window towards it. The trees were still smoking. He wondered when they might ever go out. "Daryl is – was – a skilled hunter. We used to talk of spiriting ourselves away there. He would hunt for us, and we would spend nights by a fire and go so deep no other mortal man could find us, could judge us." He sighed softly. "Now I think it would just be…wherever Daryl is. Perhaps we will join you on the seas."

Lori smiled, and leaned in to kiss his forehead, her free hand on her stomach as though afraid it would crush him when she leaned in close. Her touch was gentle and kind. Rick had no doubt that she would make a fine mother when her time came.

Then, she stood. "I will deliver your letter," she said, sensing Rick's fatigue. "Sleep."

"I fear that's all I'm good for, now."

"Hush," she said. "Shane will find this mystical lake. You will see the winter, and the new year, and slay this dragon and find peace. I know it."

"Thank you, Lori."

She turned to go, and Rick's eyes were still on the woods. At first, he thought he might be seeing an apparition, as he became aware of two shapes riding out of the woods at high speed. The dark patches of color on a small horse was familiar, and he pushed himself upright, his eyes widening when the shapes took more specific form.

"Lori!" he gasped, as loudly as he could, and a coughing fit took hold of him immediately. He shoved the bedding up to his mouth and over his nose to stifle the sound and became aware of her warmth behind him, her touch on his shoulder. "Is that -?"

" _Shane_?" she finished, just as shocked. "And…Carl?"

"Did you know they were -?"

"No," she said, pale and worried. "Oh Lord, what were they doing out there?"

Carl and Shane were galloping towards the estate at full speed. Shane was on Rick's horse and the mare's flanks were damp with sweat. Ruffian, beside her, was keeping pace mightily, but Rick could see the exhaustion in both the men and the horses.

"I will find out what's going on," Lori said, squeezing Rick's shoulder. "I'll return as soon as I can."

 

 

_Lord Grimes,_

_Your letter has gone a long way to soothing my worry. I had heard little of your condition, only that you have one, and it heartens me to know that you are in good enough health to write to me._

_Over our time together, Daryl did not speak much. You warned me he wouldn't, and I was patient with him. He is a good man, and a kind soul, and I felt affection for him as much as one might when I knew we were destined to marry. Forgive my plain speech, but I knew he would be a good husband and father to our children, even if his affection for me never ran too deeply._

_The letter from your friend was never read to me, and Daryl burned it before I could learn too many details. I know he loved you dearly, and I know it was his grief that drew him out to the woods that night. I cannot speak for his ability as a woodsman, or a warrior, but I pray every day and night that he will return to us safely._

_I wanted to give your family some token, something to make up for the kindness and welcome I have received here. Daryl carved this totem from one of the antlers of a deer his father hunted, and I wish to give it to you as a testament to our friendship. Please, accept it with all of my affection and prayer for your speedy recovery._

_Yours in friendship,_

_Beth Greene._

It was a slim dagger, curved to match the shape of the animal's horn. The base of it, where the horn grew thick, had been carved into the shape of a horse's head. There was a small gap between the intricate strings of mane, and Rick took the chain of his mother's totem and threaded it through the gap so that it rested against his heart.

He slid Beth's letter next to the one he had written for Daryl. When and if he had the strength, he would get up and burn both pieces of paper so that no one else would read the words. If he ever recovered, he supposed it would be proper to marry Beth, since Merle was far too scandalous a man for the Greenes to permit him to marry her in Daryl's stead.

He supposed, if there was anything that would foster intimacy  between them, it would be grief over Daryl's loss. They could both be mistresses to Daryl's ghost, and live on until war or disease took Rick's life and he could join Daryl in wherever lay beyond.

Suicide was a cardinal sin to his father's religion. He did not know enough about his mother's to assume the same, and dared not ask her in case she saw fit to take the dagger away from him. But it was a thought that lingered. Once Rick slayed the beast, he wasn't sure what was left of him to remain here. His family, yes, his brother and mother and father – and Shane and Lori – they would keep him on this Earth for a while longer, but he did not think any of them would fault him for this final act.

Carl's and Shane's frantic voices roused him from half-sleep, and he sat up as they came bursting through his bedroom door, Commander Gregory, his father, and Lori hot on their heels.

 

 

"I simply cannot allow this. There is no way that we can -!"

"Father, please, just _listen_."

"No!" Reginald's demeanor was fiery as he glared at his youngest son. Carl bit his lip, practically cowering next to Shane where they stood at the foot of Rick's bedside. "First, you steal two horses, and then go off into the woods when there is a _dragon_ in our lands. Are you so eager to join your brother's fate?"

Carl flinched, and Rick cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "What's going on?" he rasped weakly, doing his best not to cough.

Commander Gregory regarded him with a stern look. "Mister Walsh and your brother went without leave into the woods today," he said darkly. "They claim to have spoken with the spirits in the woods, and made a deal for safe passage to the magical lake within it."

Rick's eyes went wide and he looked at Carl. "You didn't," he said.

Carl bit his lower lip, straightening up. "No one else was going to," he said, casting a sidelong look at their father as though challenging him to protest. "And we found it – or, at least, we met someone who promised to lead us to it."

"Just like that?" Rick asked. "Fey don't just _offer_ to do things."

Carl shifted his weight. "He wouldn't let us take the water," he said. "We have to bring you to it. And we have to give him Ruffian, after. It was the only way."

"Am I to be defied in my own house?" Reginald growled. "First your brother and his… _inclinations_." Rick winced, biting his lip and looking down. "And now you -."

"Sir, my Lord, please." Commander Gregory held up a hand, begging for silence. Reginald huffed, but held his tongue when Gregory regarded Shane and Carl with an even look. "You claim to have spoken to…a faerie?"

Carl nodded. "Yes, Sir," Shane said. "It was a small, winged man. He glowed. It reminded me of the sprites Rick said resided in the Night Keep. They knew Carl's name, and Rick's, and that of his mother."

"Deanna?" Reginald whispered.

"Father," Rick whispered, for he couldn't make his voice any louder; "When I went to the Night Keep, I met a faerie there who knew mother's name. She told me I was welcome, and she asked me my name and I gave it to her."

"Sasha?" Shane asked.

Rick blinked at him, shocked. "Yes. That was her name."

"So it's true," Shane breathed, before he looked back to Reginald and Commander Gregory. "My Lords, _please_. This might be the only thing that can save Rick! We have to get him to the woods. I will go alone. No one else need risk their lives for the sake of this crusade."

"And a crusade it is," Reginald said. "A foolhardy venture that will cost the lives of two good soldiers! The doctors here -."

"Are no closer to saving Rick than they were a week ago," Lori said, cutting in with a sharp voice. She folded her arms across her chest. She might have been the first person, man or woman, that Rick had seen stand tall under his father's formidable glare. She was as mighty as a ship mast, and met his gaze steadily. "Are you so cold-hearted that you would let your son wither away when there was even a small chance of saving him?"

"I won't be talked to like this in my house," Reginald snarled. "I forbid it. And I will treat anyone who tries the same way I would treat a treasonous wretch."

With a final glare in Rick's direction, he grabbed Carl by the arm and forced him to follow behind as he strode out of Rick's room. Commander Gregory, after a moment of deafening silence that followed the slam of Rick's door, regarded them all with a cool, almost amused expression.

"Lord Grimes," he said airily, "I fear that passion runs very deep in your family."

Rick smiled weakly.

"Commander, we have to do this," Shane said, reaching out with both hands like he was prepared to fall to his knees and beg. "Please. I'm not asking for your aid – only that if I do manage to get Rick into the woods, I am given a sufficient head start."

"I will not persecute you for wanting to help your friend," Commander Gregory said. He sighed and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "I'll admit I am a skeptic at heart. I do not put much stock in stories or religion, either old or new. But there is too much coincidence to ignore." He sighed again. "I will attempt to reason with Commander Grimes. In the meantime, I suggest that if his disposition is swayed even a little, you are ready."

And with that, he left the room. Rick pulled his blanket up and coughed into his blanket. "You shouldn't have done that," he said weakly, looking at Shane and shaking his head. "You could have gotten yourselves killed."

"One day you're going to realize that you're not the only one who will do crazy shit for his friends," Shane replied. Then he looked at Lori and, with a smile, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "You're gonna help me, right, sweetheart?"

"Of course," Lori said with a giggle, leaning up to accept the kiss Shane planted to her lips. Rick smiled, unable to help himself at the sight of his friends, so happy and in love, and then turned his face back out towards the woods.

"Did you see any sign of the beast?" Rick asked.

"Nothing but char and burns," Shane replied, sighing. "There's something else, too. Apparently the lake is covered in Dragonstone."

Rick huffed. "Of course it is," he said.

"What does that mean?" Lori asked, frowning.

"Dragonstone is a special rock, forged out of dragon fire," Rick said. "Probably happened when the beast awakened." He winced, pressing a hand to his chest to try and soothe another coughing fit. " _Fuck_."

"The Fey want to help him," Shane said, with the kind of tone someone used when they were trying to convince themselves that everything would work out. "We'll figure it out. We always do."

Rick smiled weakly and turned his face away. He was, very suddenly, so incredibly tired. "Right."


End file.
